


Silver Coin

by PeppyDragon



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blue purple Hawke, F/M, Lovelorn Moping, Mutual Pining, Plot, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-11 15:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11717121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyDragon/pseuds/PeppyDragon
Summary: Cullen had never given into the temptations of the flesh; that all ended when he decided to share an ill-advised night of passion with the former Champion of Kirkwall.  Knowing they would never see one another again, the pair found honesty and comfort for a single night.Four long years later, Hawke and Cullen are thrust together again in the hopes of saving the world under the banner of the Inquisition.  Cullen finds himself falling in love with the enigmatic blood-letter, but she is taken from him suddenly and violently at the battle of Adamant.   Stirrings in the Fade whisper that Hawke lives, however - and that Hawke will return."The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss," the dragon-woman had once told Hawke. "Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."- Takes place after the events of Dragon Age II and during the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition || Changes to timing and details -





	1. Shake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything here aside from my silly headcanons. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Chapter Notes: Smut Warning.** Edited: 8/2017
> 
>  
> 
> This story's title is based on the song ["Silver Coin," by Angus and Julia Stone.](https://open.spotify.com/track/5LP6fj8DRknGmvNUkjCAqK)
> 
> This chapter's title song is ["What You Do," by James Gillespie.](https://open.spotify.com/track/6SjUDhQsGP1Ynz4aYGxckR)
> 
> Please enjoy!

 

* * *

 

**9:37 Dragon**

**Cullen Rutherford**

 Cullen stared stonily into his mug, watching the dark liquid that claimed to be whiskey float in strange eddies in spite of there being no movement within or without. There was probably something inside of the liquid - some wood shavings or, at worst, mice droppings. He wouldn't be surprised - it  _was_ the Hanged Man, after all.

Cullen then realized that the mysterious force causing his drink to move without his authorization could have been much worse than mice droppings.  He shuddered as his brain went through a list that grew more morbid with each pass - a rat tail, pieces of the mystery stew, a fingernail… a _finger._

He tried to focus on something else - something productive.  There was always the question of where he planned to go, what he planned to do.  He was no longer Knight-Captain; Hawke had seen to that.  It was both relieving and somehow infuriating that the impish Fereldan-turned-Kirkwall-Champion had managed to ruin his life so entirely.  His life hadn’t been going too well, to be honest, so the chance at something new, something fresh, was a welcomed reprieve.  A reprieve from Meredith’s madness.  A reprieve from the Gallows.  A reprieve from his worries and misgivings.

He had been the obvious choice for Knight-Commander; he had even considered signing on for the job, maintaining order.  But he had declined and shed the armor, leaving it all behind him.  Or, more accurately, he was in the process of leaving it all behind him.

Something was freeing about the absolute chaos Kirkwall had become.  The city had been half destroyed by the Qunari attack years ago, and now it had been all but ripped apart after the Mage Rebellion.

Cullen was slightly surprised that the Hanged Man was still in business.  Half of their front wall had been toppled, pieced back together with what appeared to be spackle and prayers.  The roof was buckling and gave way completely in quite a few spots.  The next time rain came, the entire bar floor would probably flood.  

Not that it would stop people from coming in and drinking.  Nothing kept Marchers from their vices, not even wet boots.

Cullen glanced back into his stein, down into the murky depths, and caught sight of pieces of hay, probably from the failed thatching of the roof.  No doubt all manner of foul things covered the thatch - bird shit, horse dung, mud or tar.  Even so, knowing it wasn’t a finger put his mind at ease.

“Well, well, fancy seeing you here,” a voice purred behind him.  Cullen closed his eyes and counted backward from ten.  He should have known he was tempting fate coming here, to a known Champion stomping ground.  Even so, her dwarf companion hadn’t been around, and she seemed quite keen on spending most of her time with him, so he had assumed….

“Slumming it tonight, Knight-Captain?” Marian Hawke pressed on, coming around his table to sit across from him.  She sat down as if she was getting paid to do it - it was a smooth rolling motion, one leg crossing over the other, her tunic a dark red that glittered like blood with each movement.  “I thought they served better at the barracks?”

“It isn’t hard to serve better than this,” Cullen agreed, taking another drink from his mug, careful to keep his lips pursed enough to avoid the hay.  “What brings you here, Champion?”

She smirked at him.  “Champion is so formal, Knight-Captain.”

“So is Knight-Captain,” he replied smoothly, hard gaze never leaving her amused one.  “Which, by the by, I am no longer Knight-Captain.”

“Ooh, color me intrigued,” she chuckled, leaning forward.  “So tell me, _former_ Knight-Captain, to who did you tender your resignation?  Meredith's gone, of course - I seem to recall you being there for that.”  Cullen made a face, and her grin widened.  “There is no Viscount, and the Seneschal is either dead or skipped town in all of the murder and confusion.  It seems there is no one left to talk to about a change in the ranks.”

“I could always have told your Captain friend,” Cullen pointed out.

Hawke scoffed.  “The City Guard has nothing to do with the templars, Cullen.”  She paused and motioned the bartender to bring her a drink before turning her icy eyes back to him.  “Wait, _did_ you tell Aveline?”

“Of course not,” Cullen replied curtly.  “As you say, there is no one left to tell.  So I am simply… leaving.”

Hawke nodded, looking oddly pleased with his answer.  Her mug was brought over, _on the house,_ the barkeep was insistent on telling her, and Hawke made an odd face.  She almost looked… embarrassed.  It wasn’t something Cullen had ever seen on the glib, slightly infuriating woman.   She took a sip, looking disgusted as she did.  “You’d think with all of the time I’ve spent here with Varric and Isabela that I’d get used to drinking this piss, but….”

Cullen couldn’t help the ghost of a smile that tilted his lips.  Her moment of weakness, the human coming through the battering ram that was usually Marian Hawke, it was… purifying.  “What brings you here at this time of night, Hawke?  I haven’t seen your usual cohorts about.”

She chuckled and took a long pull from her stein. “I tried out the drinks at the Blooming Rose a bit ago, and they were just as bad but more expensive.  So, here I am,” she said, spreading her hands as if she was sitting in a grand hall surrounded by richly dressed nobles.

“The Blooming Rose?” he repeated, trying not to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. He’d heard stories about Hawke - things passed around the barracks and in training.  She was a highly sexual being, supposedly. Others claimed to see her in compromising positions with her pirate companion, her dwarf companion, her elven warrior companion….  He had assumed most of what he heard was idle chatter.  He’d never put much stock into what soldiers and templars gossiped about in their free time.  

Hawke’s escapades, on the field of battle and off, had always been a favorite for the men, though.  And why wouldn't they be? She was attractive, strong, and flirtatious. Because of the others' talk, Cullen had heard just about every rumor there was about the cheerful bloodletter in front of him.

Hawke was smirking, as Hawke often did, and took another pull from her mug. “Don’t worry so much, Cullen; you can’t get a contact disease from sitting across from me.”  Cullen sputtered, and she laughed, the sound like tinkling bells.  “I am teasing, of course.  I’ve never partaken in anything other than alcohol at the Rose.  Not that temptation was lacking,” she added.  "There is a handsome, muscular fellow there now with a lovely head of golden hair. Quite like yours, actually."

He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him, that she wanted to make him squirm. It was a game of cat and mouse she liked playing with him at every possible moment.  He wouldn’t give into her, though.  “I thought you planned to leave the city,” he finally said.

“I did,” she acquiesced.  “I do. I haven’t worked through the details, though.  I thought you were taking the Knight-Commander position?”

He met her unwavering gaze with his own.  “I was.  Things have… changed.”

“Where do you plan to go?” Hawke asked, drinking the remaining whiskey in her stein.

“I… do not know.  Perhaps Ferelden,” he answered hesitantly.

“Good choice. I was thinking of that, myself.  Or heading over to Starkhaven to pester Sebastian,” she chuckled, leaning back in her chair.  She looked comfortable - more relaxed than usual.  There had always been a sharp set to her shoulders.  Cullen guessed she held tension in her upper back, between her shoulder blades.  

“Something is freeing about this, isn’t there?” he asked suddenly.  He wasn’t sure if it was because she was speaking with him like a true person, not some embodiment of jest.  Perhaps it was all of the whiskey.  Perhaps he was just lonely.  “Knowing you won’t be here, knowing you can simply… walk away.”

Hawke ducked her head, her long fringe of black hair sliding in front of her eyes as she did.  “There is.  Though… It’s also bittersweet for me.  This is where I lost my mother. When I lost Bethany to the Wardens. Where I lost my innocent views.”

“Innocent views?” he repeated.

“Of everything.  Of power, money, magic and mages, authority and corruptibility.  I… I’ve aged 100 years in the past seven.”

Cullen nodded.  It was strange hearing such brutal honesty from the woman. Granted, most people were the most honest right before the end.  Right before they left everything behind.  “It has been… a long road.”

Hawke swallowed and tilted her head, her hair shifting, her eyes suddenly uncovered and gleaming like glitterdust.  “Come home with me.”

Cullen had been in the middle of finishing his drink and nearly choked - either from the sudden proposition or the hay he’d forgotten was floating in his stein.  “What?”

Hawke’s signature smirk was back.  “I’m leaving town soon.  My friends have already scattered to the winds.  I guess I want someone I know watching my back.  Keeping me company.”

Cullen had thought she’d meant something else - had been sure she’d meant something else.  Her smile was anything but innocent, but her words seemed to be attempting to convince him otherwise.  

“I have the best wines anyone could ask for,” she continued.  “Straight from the Imperium.  And Orana can cook like you would not believe.  And my bed is big and warm,” she added, her lips ticking upward.

If she had been attempting to get Cullen to blush, as he’d suspected her of trying to do for years, it had finally worked.  His neck felt bathed in fire.  “I… Hawke, I can’t-”

She chuckled and stood.  Cullen tried not to think of how her breeches caressed her supple, muscled thighs.  “Cullen, the invitation stands.  I’ll leave the side door unlocked in case you change your mind.  In case you were concerned about any of your templar friends seeing you,” she added as she began to brush past him.

Cullen had a flash of desire to grab her arm, to tell her he didn’t give a damn what the templars thought, that he wasn’t among their ranks anymore.  But he swallowed and let her walk by, her hand smoothing across his arm and making gooseflesh rise in its wake.

 

* * *

 

Cullen braced himself outside of her mansion.  He had walked past it many times but he, unlike most of the Kirkwall elite, the City Guard, and other nobles, had never been inside. He had, oddly, received an invitation to the Guard Captain’s wedding, but he had not attended.  He was sure the invitation was mostly in jest, seeing as Hawke had been in charge of the planning. Meredith had gone to it, however, and she had told Cullen that it was an _oddly handsome estate._  He had heard from other attendees, mostly in passing or from his unintentional eavesdropping in the Keep, that Hawke’s dwarven stewards were pleasant, her elven cook was a charm, and that Hawke herself was a gracious host.

He stood outside her mansion, loitering in front of the main door, trying to determine if he should knock or try the side door she’d mentioned she would leave unlocked.  He was saved from the deliberation when he heard Hawke’s voice coming from the other end of the house.

He followed the sound of her voice, stopping outside of a waist-high, wrought iron gate.  She was in her smallclothes, throwing a ball for a massive mabari and cooing at him.  Somehow Cullen had never known she had a hound.  A formidable one, at that.  The dog looked as if it stood a good head higher than most of its breed.

The hound turned its head toward him and let out a bellowing bark that shook Cullen to his core.  Hawke’s head swiveled in his direction, and her startled expression gave way to a grin.  “Well, well.  I think you caught a thief trying to sneak in, Jakke!”

The hound made a curious noise, looking between Hawke and Cullen.  He sat on his haunches, panting heavily, tongue lolling out of his mouth.  Hawke chuckled and ambled toward the gate, opening it for Cullen.

“Will he attack me?” Cullen asked cautiously.  He’d never had a pet as a child - especially not an intelligent war hound.  He wasn’t quite sure how much they understood and being called a thief in front of one might have been the last thing Cullen needed.

“No, Jakke’s a sweet boy.  He knows I was teasing earlier,” she added, standing aside so Cullen could step into the back yard.  It was small but lush with greens - thick, plush grass, fruit trees and manicured shrubbery.  There was a thriving herb garden in the back corner, and the stretch of free lawn was littered with toys and treats for the mabari.  “Jakke, come say hello!”

Jakke bounded up to Cullen and flopped at his feet, rolling around on his back, his panting loud and rasping. Cullen stared at the strange display until Hawke cleared her throat.  “Pet his belly,” she supplied helpfully.

Cullen lowered himself into a crouch, hesitantly running a hand over the hound’s ribs.  The dog lifted his head only enough to lick across Cullen’s hand, leaving a thick slime in the wake of his tongue.  “Oh,” Cullen said, slightly dismayed.

Hawke chuckled and clapped softly.  “Okay, Jakkey, time for bed!”  The dog was up and sprinting toward the back door in seconds, his body positively radiating with excitement.

“He has so much energy,” Cullen marveled, wiping his hand off on the back of his leg.

“He’s been cooped up too long.  He’s going to appreciate some time out in the wilds again.”

Cullen almost asked about the comment, trying to see if she had decided on where she was going when she departed.  He was also curious about what she would do with the mansion - her garden alone was breathtaking.  He wasn’t sure how she could leave it so quickly.

He followed her inside, awe-struck by the interior of the home.  It was a handsome estate, as Meredith had said.  It was more sparse than he had expected. The bookshelf lined walls and tables for crafting and potion mixing somehow made it both attractive and utilitarian all in one moment.

There was a portrait above the main fireplace that featured a beautiful young family - a young woman with her husband, two small babes on her lap and a young child holding onto her father’s hand.  The child had the unmistakable eyes of Marian Hawke. Eyes she shared with her mother.

Hawke glanced back from where she had begun to ascend the staircase and smiled sadly at the portrait.  “We could never afford such frivolousness when we were a family.  We were farmers, you know.  My father and sister were apostates, terrified all of the time, so sure each day they might be caught, snatched away.  After mother died and I was left all alone in this big house, I….” She trailed off, clearing her throat, meeting Cullen’s eyes when he turned to look at her.  “I had it commissioned.  It’s not exactly right, of course. I have somehow forgotten the details about my father’s face.  Was his nose strong like Carver’s, or more slender like mine and Bethany’s?  Did his jaw taper like mine? Was it firm like the others’?  I… I don’t remember.”

Cullen wasn’t sure what to say.  He wanted to say something to soothe her, but she was so raw, so vulnerable, that it left him speechless.  She was gripping the railing so hard that her knuckles had lost their color, dressed only in slips of white cloth, and somehow he was there to see it all.  The strong, fierce, jovial Marian Hawke was suddenly none of those things.

He had taken too long to collect his thoughts because she was running a hand over her face, clearing her throat.  When she pulled her hand away, she was composed.  The jester mask was back in place.  “Are you coming up, or do I have to drink alone?”

She turned and continued up the stairs, her back straight, the tension there making her shoulders taut.  Cullen followed after her at a reserved pace, already cursing himself for coming over.  Nothing good could come of it.  At worst, they would get too drunk and say things they didn’t mean or meant and didn’t want to say.  At best….

When they arrived, it was into Hawke’s dim bedroom.  The fireplace was dark, and only a few candles were burning on a nightstand near her bed. Jakke was flopped in the corner on a pile of fluff, licking his paws.  Hawke knelt down by the fire, striking flint against a scrap of parchment as a fire starter. She attempted more times than Cullen could count before she sank down onto the ground, letting out a strangled laugh.  “I never actually learned how to do this, somehow,” she admitted.  “Bodahn always took care of the fires, but he and Sandal are gone now.”

Cullen came to kneel beside her, taking the flint and striker from her hands.  After a few deft hits, the parchment roll caught fire, and he tossed it under the stack of kindling and crisscrossed wood.  He watched it all catch and slowly lowered himself to sit beside Hawke.  “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

Hawke glanced over at him.  “For what?”

“That everyone is gone,” he replied softly.  “I know… I know what it feels like to be alone when all you want is company.  For what it is worth, I am sorry.”

Hawke’s eyes lingered on the side of his face for longer than Cullen could understand.  He felt his neck flushing under the weight of her gaze and slowly turned to look at her.  

Hawke opened her mouth, probably to say something about being alone, but stopped.  Her icy eyes regarded his for a long moment before she slowly leaned in.  Her lips brushed against his jaw, feather-soft.  “You’re sweet, Cullen,” she finally murmured, lips still on his skin.  “I wish I’d… well.”  She pulled away and got to her feet, going to the side table in the corner.  She poured a bottle of wine into two large goblets before moving the two desk chairs close to the fire, motioning for Cullen to sit in one.  She brought the wine chalices over, offering one to Cullen before sitting beside him.

The chairs were angled just enough that her knee brushed against his when she sat.  She didn’t move away from the touch and, more surprisingly, neither did Cullen.  They drank in silence before Hawke asked, “When were you most afraid in your life?”

He knew he shouldn’t have answered her, but the alcohol was warming him and her bare knee brushing against his breeches was making it hard for him to think.  Besides - she wasn’t long for Kirkwall, and he would never see her again.  What was the harm?

“Seven years ago,” he replied, taking another sip from his wine.  Hawke had been right - it was excellent.

“The Blight?” she asked.

“Yes… and no.  The fall of the Ferelden Circle.  I was stationed there when the blood mages took over the tower.  Everyone was gone, murdered, and I… I was trapped.  If it weren't for the Hero of Ferelden, if he hadn’t arrived when he did, the Maleficarum would have destroyed all of us in the Circle.  They almost did, but….” He broke off, taking another sip of his wine.  “The way the demons got into my mind....  They played on my desires; they promised me everything.”

Hawke reached out to him, her hand cold but comforting on his.  “You stood strong against them, Cullen. You did because you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Cullen let out a shaky breath.  “Even so.  The nightmares still plague me.  I still think of those voices, those infernal whispers.”  He finished his glass and cleared his throat.  Her hand was still on his, resting like a roosting bird.  “What about you?” he asked belatedly.

Hawke leaned forward, and Cullen’s eyes couldn’t help dipping between the valley of her breasts, the way her smallclothes were almost sheer in the firelight.  He swallowed and raised his gaze to her face, trying very hard to check the urge to look again.

Hawke seemed to have not caught his peeping - she was staring into the fire.  “You heard about the Deep Roads expedition I went on, I assume?”

“Of course. Everyone did.”

She smiled, but it didn’t hold.  “I took Bethany with me.  It was supposed to be a family venture, you know?  To get the money to win back our mother’s estate, our birthright.  To right all the mistakes our stupid uncle made.  But Bethany got the Blight.  Luckily we had Anders there.  Luckily Anders knew how to reach other Wardens.  I was… so scared.  I knew the chances of her dying vastly outweighed those that she might live.  But what else could I do? I had to try.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, gripping her hand in his.  “Of course you did.  You had to save her.”

Hawke chuckled softly, finally turning to look at him.  “She hated me for it, you know.  She thought I was trying to get rid of her.  Resented me for allowing the Wardens to take her.”

“She is young,” Cullen attempted to make her feel better, to make the bitter turn of her lips disappear.

“She’s forgiven me since,” Hawke added quickly.  “She doesn’t hate me anymore.  But that fear… that fear of knowing she might be dead, that the Wardens might not be able to save her, that my mother would have lost another child while I somehow kept on?”  She shook her head ruefully.  “It’s the most divine, dark comedy there is.  I am still here.  Carver, Bethany, my mother - they were better than I ever was or could be. Pure. But I am the untouchable one.”

“I mean no offense to those who have left,” Cullen began slowly, trying to weigh his words, “but you must know that you have done impossible things.  You would be the Viscount if not for your assistance to the mages. You….” he trailed off, looking at her pale eyes.  “You are better than any one person could ever hope to be.”

She bit her lower lip and looked away from him, back toward the fire.  “I guess we can all believe what we wish to believe.”

Cullen sighed.  The tension in her shoulders was getting worse. He could almost see the muscles knotting under her skin. “Come here,” he requested.  Hawke raised an eyebrow but stood, stepping over to him.  She loitered in front of him, not sure what he was expecting and suddenly seeming not nearly as flirty or casual as she had earlier in the night.  Cullen turned her around so that her back was to him, guiding her to kneel.  

His hands hesitated on her shoulders, trying to remember how to give a proper massage. It had been years, many, many years, since his last real intimacy with another person. Many years since placing his hands on a woman’s skin, kneading it between his fingers, listening to soft moans and feeling the bones and muscles move beneath his hands.  But he would try for Hawke because there was no one else alive that seemed to need it more than her.

He gently massaged his hands across her shoulders, and she let out a sharp sound, something like surprise and release.  She leaned back a bit, giving him better access, and her muscles seemed to melt under his ruminations.  Her shoulder blades quaked as he moved lower on her back, her gossamer top fluttering further and further down her arms, baring more of her skin to him.

He stopped suddenly, startled by the beginnings of a purple tattoo on her spine. “What is-” he began, pulling the top down further.  It was the head of a dragon. It seemed to slope further and further down her back, possibly taking up most of the skin there.

Hawk chuckled softly. “Didn’t you ever hear how we escaped Ferelden, beset on all sides by darkspawn?”

“That was only a story,” Cullen breathed, tracing the head of the dragon, unable to catch himself.  “A story your dwarf friend spun.”

“Not at all,” Hawke replied softly. “A dragon saved us. Or she was a woman who took the shape of a dragon.  Either way, she whisked us out of the Wilds.  She ended up being something special to the elves, I suppose.  They were quite secretive about the whole thing, really, but… she saved us.  Who was I to press?”

Cullen returned to massaging her back, hands slowly dipping lower until the top finally resisted, refusing to slip any further.  When he paused, he noticed that Hawke’s breathing had deepened, quickened.  He knew that sound - the sound of a woman trying to contain something she wasn’t willing to part with but desperately wanted to.  He had heard it many nights while walking the halls of the Circle.  Fraternization was forbidden, but it happened.  The women would try to contain themselves, would try to hide their desire, their needs, but the breathing was the tell Cullen had always noticed first.

His hands slid down her shoulders and arms, caressing her soft skin, pausing on the mound of scar tissue on her left arm.  An intense wound had been there.  Something deep and just narrowly missing bone.

“The dragon at the Bone Pit,” she supplied, glancing down at where his hand had hesitated.  Her voice was softer, slightly raspy.  “Thank the Maker Anders was there.”

“Why?” he asked suddenly and then realized that it hadn’t come out how he meant.  “I… why did you kill him? You two seemed… close.”

“We weren't near the end. And close or not, what he did was unforgivable,” she murmured.  “I don’t follow the Chantry; I don’t agree with how it treats the mages and non-humans.  But those inside were victims.  They didn’t deserve what Anders did to them.”

She stood suddenly, turning to him, her navel in his face and the top mounds of her breasts peeking out from where the fabric had lowered.  She looked disheveled and gorgeous.  Cullen wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone so effortlessly beautiful as Hawke was at that moment.

She took his hand and pulled him up, leading him to her bed. The red and gold duvet was like silk as he sat down, slick beneath his hands. Hawke slid on top of him, straddling his lap.  She kissed him, her lips warmer than he had anticipated.  His hands moved to the small of her back, pulling her into him, relishing the soft moan that escaped where her mouth melded with his.

She tugged at his tunic, pulling it up and over him and tossing it aside.  Her hands were like ice as they roved over his chest, making him shudder against them.  “Your hands are so cold,” he murmured, reaching up to cover them with his own.

“My mother always said a woman with cold hands has a warm heart.”  Her hands fluttered away from his and over a scar on his abdomen.  “What’s this from?” she breathed, pulling back only long enough to ask the question before her mouth roved across his chin and down the slope of his jaw.

“Nothing as exciting as your dragon,” he responded, trying to keep his mind clear enough to speak.  

“Tell me,” she whispered in his ear, tongue flicking across his earlobe.

He groaned, and his hands tightened on her sides.  “Templar training.  The first day sparring with real weapons, not blunted.  My partner had a grudge against me.”

“Oh?” she chuckled, breath tickling his ear.  “And why was that?”

“He… might have caught me kissing a girl he had his sights on,” he replied softly.  “I was fifteen, young and reckless.”

“Mmm, what I wouldn’t give to see young and reckless Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” she purred, nipping his earlobe.

He tossed her onto the bed, descending on her, her raspy giggles making something low in his abdomen flame.  His mouth found the hollow of her throat, licking across the divot.  His hand moved beneath her undershirt and found more mounds of scar tissue - more than he could fathom.  He pulled back slightly.  “And these?”

She smirked.  “You were there for these.  The healers had a time patching them, but….”  Her hand came to join his, lifting her top enough for him to see the extent of them.  Long gashes crisscrossed across one another, all of them about the same height and depth, running horizontally across her ribs.

“The statues,” he whispered, and she nodded.  “Meredith’s work.”  The realization made his blood boil.  The woman he had served faithfully for so long, the woman who he trusted… she had done so much to hurt so many.  

Hawke sensed the shift in his mood and reached up to brush a hand across his jaw, her thumb stroking his lower lip.  “This wasn’t your fault.”

He scoffed, unable to help himself.  If he had simply stood up to her sooner.  If he had simply grown a backbone -

Hawke’s fist suddenly connected with his arm and he shouted - less to do with pain and more to do with surprise.  She was smirking at him. “Stop it.  I can see the cogs spinning in that thick skull of yours.  None of this is your fault,” she repeated.

He sighed and pulled himself off of her, leaving her draped across the bed like the most inviting present a desire demon could summon. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, raising an eyebrow at him.  He expected her to get annoyed, to demand to know why he was such a bore, but instead, she asked, “Are you hungry? I think I’m famished.”

She slid off of the bed, sauntering out of the room without checking to see if he planned to follow her.  And he did follow her, of course, because he felt like a trained mabari when it came to Hawke.  He’d never been able to arrest her for her known apostate accomplices. He’d never been able to stop her from speaking out against the Chantry or Meredith.  All he could do was watch her and hate himself for pining after her each time their paths crossed.

When they arrived at the kitchen, Cullen was momentarily stunned by the sheer amount of bread and cookies littering the long table.  “Is this… every day?”

Hawke snorted and grabbed a knife, cutting off hunks of bread.  “Orana is insistent that we get fat.  Or… I get fat, I suppose,” she amended.  She pushed a plate toward Cullen and deposited a hunk of bread.  “I think we still have some ham and these baby cheeses that are to die for.  They supposedly taste like springtime, but I think they just taste like delicious cheese.”

Cullen watched her move around the kitchen, opening the multitude of larders and ice boxes to check for other things.  “Oh, we have some grapes, too.  I love grapes - do you like grapes?”

Cullen tried to find his tongue.  He had been too busy watching how her undergarment rose around the swell of her ass, giving him an uninterrupted view of the smooth skin there.  “Ah… yes.  Grapes are… good.”

She chuckled and stood, bringing an arm-full of foods to the table and setting them between their plates.  Cheesecloth-wrapped meats and cheeses, grapes and a few oranges.  She looked infinitely pleased with her haul. Cullen had to admit that it was impressive; he hadn’t seen so much fresh food in years.

She cut thin pieces of meat and cheese for both of them, popping a grape into her mouth as she did.  “So,” she said, words muffled around her grape chewing, “Have you ever been in love?”

“You ask deeply personal questions,” he said, again surprised by her line of inquiry.

She shrugged.  “Why not?  This is one ill-advised night of… something.  We will never see one another again.  Why not be curious and honest?”

Cullen couldn’t argue with her. He had initially thought about lying to her - telling he had had never been in love, and never lusted after someone with a passion he had yet to find again. But, in the end, he decided on the truth.  “Once.  It was forbidden.”

“As the best loves are,” Hawke chuckled, leaning onto the table on her elbows, picking up a slice of cheese and nibbling it.  “What was her name?”

“Alyndra,” Cullen said. It felt odd having the name on his tongue again.  “She was a mage in the Circle.  An elf.  Her clan had cast her out - they had too many mages to care for properly, so she was sent away when her powers manifested.  She supposedly had come to the Circle willingly, turning herself over.  She was young when this happened - it was well before my time there.  But she was the best of them.  Sweet, innocent, always helpful.  She had taken to coming into the library when my shift led me there. When no one else was around, we would talk. She would laugh.  It was… it was a laugh like she’d never known how to laugh.  She always seemed surprised when it happened.  Startled.”

Hawke’s eyes were gentle, sympathetic.  He hadn’t known what to expect when he began speaking, but compassion was not on the list.  “What happened to her?” she asked softly.

“She… died.  During the fall of the Circle.  She was one of the first sacrificed.”  His voice shook slightly, and he cleared his throat to compose himself.  “I watched her die.”

Hawke reached across the table, putting her hand on his in a gentle caress.  It had nothing to do with passion or desire - she was honestly trying to offer him comfort.  He closed his hand around hers, squeezing.  

“Did you kill them?” she asked.  “The ones who hurt her.”

“I did,” he admitted.  “And, honestly… her death might have been the only thing that had saved me.  My rage didn’t allow me to give into the whispers.  Into the demons.  I held strong because the sight of her crumpling, her blood giving those bastards power….”  He trailed off, and they remained in silence for a few minutes, holding one another’s hand.  “What about you?” he asked finally.

She gently pulled her hand back and slipped a piece of meat into her mouth, thinking.  “There was a templar back in Ferelden.” She caught Cullen’s surprised expression and snorted.  “I know, I have a weakness.  It started out innocently enough - well, as innocently as feeding off of his desires to keep Bethany safe was.”

“What?” Cullen asked, confused.

“Let me back up,” she murmured, taking another grape, chewing thoughtfully.  “When my father died, I had just turned twenty-two.  Carver and Bethany were fifteen.  We somehow… we somehow always thought that if my dad were there, Bethany would be safe.  That he could somehow protect himself and her and that we didn’t need to worry.  But when he died… all of that changed.  The fear of the templars finding her was suffocating my mother and, by proxy, me.  I began befriending the templars who frequented Lothering, trying to keep only positive associations with the Hawke family.  One was a young man - eighteen or nineteen.  He was in love with me from the moment he saw me,” she chuckled humorlessly.  “I used it to my advantage. I spun stories for him, stories about wanting a knight in shining armor to save me, to protect my family.  He ate it up.  He wanted nothing more than to take my family and me away.  He loved me.  And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with him, too.”

“What happened?” Cullen asked.  He anticipated a heroic death when the darkspawn arrived.  He expected a story of how his love never faded.  That was not the story he received, though.

“He had taken vows of chastity during his training,” she sighed softly.  “He loved me, but he loved the Order, the Maker, more. It wasn’t the end of our infatuation with one another, of course, but it kept us from actually becoming more than pining children for over a year.  And then I did the unthinkable.  I took him into the barn, and I took my clothes off.  I betrayed his trust, I seduced him, and he broke his vows.  When it was all said and done, he hated me.  He hated himself.  I never saw him again after that night.  He might have transferred; he might have left the Order in shame, I don’t… I just don’t know.”

She shook her head, chuckling and murmured, “Well, now that we’ve both thoroughly depressed one another, let’s eat and talk about something fun.  If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”

Cullen thought on that as he ate, trying to puzzle out the best answer.  Finally, he murmured, “There is a dock not far from where I grew up.  It was always quiet.  I could sit there and feel as if I was the last person in the world.”

“I think that would scare me more than calm me,” Hawke admitted.  “I’ve never been fond of being alone.”

“I relished it as a child,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.  “My family was very loud.  Loving, but… boisterous.  The quiet allowed me to think.”

Hawke smiled softly.  “I think mine would Lothering, before the Blight, before my father died.  There was always so much life. We didn’t have much, but we had one another.  I miss that. Belonging.  I haven’t felt that in a long time.”

“What about your friends?” he asked.  “Your companions?”

“That was a _very_ different kind of belonging.  There were… moments,” she admitted, tilting her head to the side.  A faint blush had turned her pale cheeks pink.  Cullen wanted to press, but it turned out he didn’t need to.  “When you’re with people for so long, there are moments where you make foolish choices, find one another naked with no other purpose than needing to feel someone else’s skin. But there was never a sense of family with them. I always worried Isabela might stab me in the back, even though she’d turned out to be a great companion.  That Fenris would decide he’d had enough of me defending the mages.  That Merrill would succumb entirely to her blood magic and get us all caught in the crossfire, that Sebastian would disappear to reclaim his throne - which ended up happening,” she chuckled.  “The only ones I knew wouldn’t betray me were Aveline and Varric.  Anders was on that list, too, until he went insane, raving about a secret agenda against the mages. How I didn’t see his betrayal coming, I will never know.”

She was silent for a moment before she laughed.  “So much for keeping things light-hearted. Oh! I am sure I never told you, but I met the Hero of Ferelden once. You reminded me of it when you mentioned him. He was in Lothering, telling everyone the darkspawn were on the move and coming our way. My mother didn’t believe it.  He sounded like a mad dwarf preaching that we would all fall into the sky.”

“Did you believe him?” Cullen asked.

“Of course I did,” she chuckled. “I mean… he was handsome, for one. I am a sucker for a handsome man giving orders and preaching doom.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.  “The Champion of Kirkwall is attracted to dwarves?”

“I’m attracted to anyone who I find attractive.”  She smirked at him.  “Is that so strange?”

“I am not sure,” he admitted.  “But the Hero did seem quite… stout.”

Hawke’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as she ducked her head, finishing off the bread on her plate.  “You were probably wondering which of my companions I found myself in bed with on a few occasions?”

“I heard rumors,” he answered vaguely.  “Though, after your Hero of Ferelden comment, I assume it was your storyteller.”

“Templars, always so perceptive,” she chuckled.  “We’re best friends.  Things never got strange for us, so it happened more than once.  But it was… nice. I trusted him - _trust_ him.  Trust is something that’s been hard for me to come by.”

Cullen watched her for a moment before asking, “Is that what tonight is?  Comfort with someone you trust?”

Her eyes rose to meet his.  “If you want, tonight only has to be about conversation, good food, and better drinks.”  She took that moment to go back into a larder and pull a bottle of wine from it.  She brushed the dust off of the label and whistled.  “5:25 Exalted.  I’m honestly surprised something this old still exists.  Might as well drink it while we can.”  She grabbed two glasses and uncorked the bottle, pouring the dark liquid into them.

They drank in silence, the wine doing more than the crackling fire in the hearth to warm Cullen.  He was suddenly very aware of his bare chest and his cold back.  Hawke had been smart and taken a position that had her back to the flames.

“What other options are there?” he asked.  Hawke blinked at him, and so he continued.  “Before. You said that tonight could just be about conversation.  What other options are there?”

Her eyes narrowed, but her lips tilted upward. She looked predatory, and the expression caused heat to flare up in his abdomen.  “Well,” she began slowly, “I’m not exactly the fall in love type, Cullen.  That’s proved bad for me before, as you’ll recall.”

“I am leaving everything behind, Hawke. I am not looking for love,” he murmured.

“So,” she continued as if he hadn’t said anything, “I think our options are conversation and wine, or wine and moving this back to the bedroom.  My vote would be the latter because, I have to admit, I’ve fantasized about getting under your armor a few times.”

Cullen was too wrapped up in the way her lips moved to feel embarrassed.  “I say the latter.”

“Well,” she began warmly, finishing her glass and pouring another.  She topped off his glass, as well, and then her hands flitted to her shirt.  She untied the string that held the garment together, and it began to slowly unlace, giving a longer glimpse at the scarred skin between her unbound breasts. “How about we finish our wine and see where this goes?”

Cullen’s mouth was watering, and it had nothing to do with the wine.  He finished his glass in a few large gulps and slid off of his stool, moving around the table toward Hawke.  She watched him, her smile never faltering, but did not move to give him better access. So he grabbed her hips and turned her around, leaning her back over the table, his mouth descending on her collar bone.  Hawke arched her body against him, gasping as his mouth lowered slowly, tongue curling across the swell of her left breast before descending onto her nipple.

Hawke was panting within seconds as Cullen reached down, taking her ass in his hands and hefting her up onto the long table.  She made a soft noise as he dropped her, harder than he intended. His mouth found hers, and her tongue slipped between his lips, vying for dominance with his. Cullen ended up winning the fight by grabbing her throat in one hand.  She gasped and groaned, pulling back and meeting his gaze with hers.  “And here I was worried you'd be too sweet,” Hawke breathed.  His hand tightened slightly on her neck, and she chuckled breathlessly.  “Well. I guess I made the right choice in you, Rutherford.”

Her words caused something dark to flash through him.  Possessiveness.  The desire to make her his in such a way that she would never be able to spread her legs without remembering him.  Would never be able to touch herself without remembering the way he made her feel.

He reached down, roughly tugging her bottoms off. They tore as he pulled and she giggled as if it was the most amusing thing she’d ever seen.  She stopped laughing when he shoved her legs apart and descended between them.

“Oh,” she wheezed, a hand running through his hair, gripping the short waves and tugging.  “Cullen-”

He pulled back, gaze falling on hers as he licked his lips.  “Stop talking.”  He lowered himself back to her, tongue stroking against the slick, silken skin.  His tongue traced from her opening, the passage he had ever intention of exploring fully later, to the nub of molten fire that was her clitoris.  She mewled in delight as he sucked the nub gently into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it slowly, relishing how her hips were already rocking against his face.

“Cullen-” she began, but he gripped her thighs tighter, cutting her off and making another delicious moan fall from her lips.  She talked too much.  She was always talking, always playing coy, always being the court jester to her room of fools.  He couldn’t hear it now - he wanted her to be silent, to feel something, not to bury it all in idle chatter or honeyed words.

She began to roll her hips against his face, and he slowly slipped a single finger against her opening, tracing the tight passage’s entrance.  She started whimpering - he could tell she wanted to goad him on, to tempt him, but she stayed quiet for once.

Cullen slowly slipped the finger inside of her.  Her walls tightened around him, pulling him in further.  Her swiveling pelvis sped up, and his tongue quickened to match the pace.  His finger steadily stroked inside of her, feeling the smooth ridges and smooth skin reverently.

Hawke’s breath was coming out in sharp bursts, her voice rasping from her throat as she moaned.  “Cullen, I-” she broke off, silencing herself without any reminders.  Cullen had almost thought his lessons had paid off, but the only reason she had stopped talking was due to the orgasm rolling through her body.  It began with her legs stiffening against his neck.  She then let out a shuddering gasp that felt as if it rattled Cullen to his core.  Everything was suddenly wetter, slicker, and Cullen drank her in, pleased at how sudden her release was - pleased that he had caused such a thing.

Hawke fell back onto the table, covering her face with her arms, chest rising and falling sharply.  Each breath pushed the strings on her top apart, the material slowly parting, slowly displaying more and more of her breasts. Cullen took his time to kiss along the swell of her right thigh, kissing up to her navel.  “Shall we move this upstairs?” he breathed against the tight muscles of her abdomen.

Hawke chuckled and sat up, pushing his face away from her as she did.  “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night, Rutherford.”  She slid off of the long table and began to depart, her backside a swell of perfection as she moved.

“Why so formal?” he asked, catching up to her easily and grabbing her hips, pulling her back into him.  He wasn’t sure what had changed in the hour in the kitchen.  He wasn’t sure what spell she had cast on him - if it was something as simple as the old wine or her burning honesty.  Something had changed, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was proud of it.  He did know, however, that he wanted her and this would be the last time he would ever see her pale face, her blue eyes, her long fringe of black hair.

Why shouldn’t he enjoy himself before the uncertainty that faced him in the cold light of day?

Hawke was laughing, the sound silky as it caressed over him.  She leaned back into him, an arm hooking around the back of his neck and guiding him down to her shoulder.  His lips smoothed over the skin, tongue running across a small set of scars dotting the crook of her neck.  “What are these from?” he asked, sucking the skin around them into his mouth.

“Forget about those,” she chuckled, tugging away from him but grabbing his hand, pulling him toward the main room and, beyond that, the stairs. She released his hand and tore up the staircase. He chased after her, after his prey, and she let out a happy trill as she darted into her bedroom.  He made it to the doorway in time to see her toss herself onto the bed, chest rising with adrenaline.  “This is base,” she breathed, smirking.  “I’m safe on base.”

“Only in children’s games, Champion,” he growled, lowering himself to the bed and pulling her legs, sliding her toward him.  She was laughing helplessly, and his hands caressed up her slender calves and supple thighs.  

She had just begun to relax into his caresses when he grabbed her legs and tossed her over, pulling her top off of her and displaying the full extent of the purple tattoo that curved across her spine from shoulder blades to the small of her back.  The dragon was detailed lovingly, every scale seeming to glisten in the firelight, flickering as if the dragon was moving, coiling.

“Like it?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him and smirking.  “It cost a small fortune, but I’m told it was money very well spent.”

Cullen bit his tongue before the question could slide past his lips. _Who else has seen it?_ She could have simply been showing it off to her friends - Hawke didn’t seem like an overly modest or easily embarrassed person.  Even so, the dark thing inside of him rolled up again, and he had to clear his throat and shake his head to dislodge the thoughts.

“I think you’re overdressed,” Hawke purred.  “I could always help with that, you know.”

Cullen got off of the bed, reaching for the ties on his breeches, but Hawke slid across the duvet to sit in front of him.  Her nimble, thin fingers made quick work of untying the pants and sliding them down his hips.  Her fingers hooked around his smallclothes, and she smirked.  “Excited about something?” she teased gently at the bulge there.

He didn’t answer.  He placed his fingers over hers and shoved them down, the slip of cloth falling to his ankles, joining the breeches.

Hawke let out a soft sound, something like surprise and appreciation.  Never one to be shy, she stroked a hand across his slightly alert cock, grinning up at him.  He thought Hawke might say something clever - she did like showing how clever she could be - but instead, she lowered her smirking lips to him, taking him into her mouth and sucking.

He gasped at the sudden warmth, the immediate pressure.  He felt himself hardening immediately, his cock pulsing to life under her skilled mouth, her skilled tongue.  She commanded him as if he was an orchestra and she was the most experienced maestro in the Free Marches.  His hand slid through her feather-soft hair. One of her hands rose to join his, pressing it firmly against her head, forcing her to take more of him into her mouth, further down her throat.

 _“Maker,”_ he breathed.  He was seeing stars bursting inside of his closed eyelids.  Everything felt as if it was in hyper focus while also being covered in velvet.  He wanted to freeze the night, the early morning, and just have it be this.  To have it be only them, only their pleasure, their bodies twining and writhing together.

He pulled her face away from him, and she made a distressed noise in the back of her throat.  He pulled her up and turned her around, leaning her over the bed.  He didn’t wait for her approval before he slid inside of her, her tight passage giving resistance but not enough to stop him.  

Hawke was moving back against him, matching his pace easily.  He could tell she was a skilled lover, had potentially been with many others. His repertoire was much emptier than hers, he was sure, but he seemed to be doing well enough to make the tiny rogue quake beneath him.  

He watched the dragon on her back move as her muscles corded and loosened, as her shoulder blade movements made the wings appear to flap.  He slammed into her harder, making her shout her pleasure into the duvet.  His fingertips dug into the flesh of her hips, the skin dimpling under his pressure.  He watched the dragon slither across her back as they moved in tandem, their bodies slapping together with wet, hard noises.

Hawke had begun to whimper into the bed, her entire body shaking beneath him.  He pressed in harder, knowing her release was coming on quickly.  He reached past her hip, a finger sliding between the slick folds between her legs and caressing over her clit.  She shouted into the bedspread, her voice cracking halfway through.  Her passage tightened around his cock, almost hard enough to hurt.  He wheezed past the sensation, biting the inside of his cheek to keep focused and control his urge to release.

When Hawke’s trembling lessened, Cullen pulled out of her and gently rolled her over onto her back.  She smiled at him and, for once, it was a real smile.  Something relaxed, something pleased.  He leaned down to meet her lips with his and whispered, “Give me some room.”

She scooted back on the bed, and he took his place between her spread legs.  He gently stroked himself back inside of her, a soft sigh escaping his lips as her warmth engulfed him. He leaned over her, his arms at her sides, watching her face as he thrust into her slowly, deeply.  Her eyelids fluttered as her pelvis rose to meet his.  Her hands were on his elbows, cold fingertips gripping into his flesh, her sharp nails biting.  

They moved together for so long that Cullen’s arms were beginning to tire.  But he couldn’t stop.  He couldn’t stop watching how she breathed through her slightly opened mouth, how her teeth would bite down on her lower lip when he stroked her just right, how her icy gaze met his, swimming in too many emotions for him to understand.

“Cullen,” she whispered, her body shuddering below his.

“Marian,” he replied, using her name for what felt like the first time.

“I wanted this,” she murmured, her hands roving over his back, nails gently scratching over his shoulder blades.  “Just… know that.  This wasn’t just because I wanted company.  I wanted _your_ company.”  

He gasped at the words, at her admission.  She hadn’t needed to say it, but she did, and somehow that meant more to Cullen than anything had in years.  He groaned past the urge to release and leaned down, his mouth finding her pulsing jugular.  “I know,” he whispered.  “Now stop talking and orgasm for me once more.”

She chuckled softly, breathlessly, her arms wrapping around his neck and keeping him in place.  He nipped her throat before biting down on it, licking the captured skin between his teeth.  Hawke yelped and groaned, her body shaking more, her walls tightening around him. He kept his grip on the skin until her shudders gave way to a sudden stillness as she whimpered past another orgasm.  Her arms tightened around his neck as she came, her breath tickling across his ear.

Cullen began to pull out of her, his climax coming on, but she secured his waist in place with her legs, holding him there.  “Where are you off to so soon?” she teased between breaths.

“I am going to-”

“I know,” she said gently, caressing a hand across his jaw.  “Even so.  Don’t go anywhere.”

Cullen couldn’t contain himself much longer, and his lust was thick enough for him to ignore all of the warnings in his brain, all of the concern, all of the fear for his future.  He lowered himself onto her, his lips capturing hers, and orgasmed.

He growled into her mouth, and her fingernails scrabbled down his back, making his hips buck faster and harder into her as he released himself inside of her.  He stayed draped over her, just barely able to support himself enough to keep from crushing the small woman beneath him.  When he finally had enough mental power to move, he rolled himself onto the bed beside her, a hand on his chest and the other running through his hair.  “Hawke-”

“Shh,” she chided him, curling up between his arm and his side, her head lolling on his shoulder.  “No worrying, only sleep.”

He couldn’t argue with her even though his troubled mind wanted to very much.  He fell into a fitful sleep with Hawke in his arms, for once not haunted by the whispering in his dreams.

 

* * *

 

They had been in the middle of a very late breakfast when Varric arrived through the back door using a key that he tucked into his tunic as he entered the kitchen. He was wearing dark clothing and a cowl which obscured most of his face. He looked mildly surprised to see Cullen there wearing nothing but breeches, but he didn’t let it distract him for long.  “Sorry to interrupt, Hawke, but we need to get you out of here.  Now.”  Varric wasn’t his usual chipper self.  He looked concerned.  He looked worried.

“What’s going on?” Cullen asked, forgetting about the pork scratchings on his plate and turning his eyes from Varric to Hawke.  “What happened?”

“The Seekers is what happened,” Varric said quickly with an eye roll and a sigh.  “They’re already here, and they’re looking for you, Hawke.”

Hawke bit her lower lip, thinking.  “How long do I have?”

“Minutes? Seconds?  Shit, Hawke, I don’t know.  Aveline is going to try to keep them from searching the estate for as long as she can, but she can’t stand up against the Seekers for long.  The one I met, Pentaghast?  Hardass.  I don’t know many people who could stand up to -- this is wasting time.  Get dressed, get what you need.  I need to sneak you out of here in broad daylight. No easy task, but for you, I'll risk it. Go,” he added, prompting Hawke to move finally.  She slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Cullen alone with the anxious dwarf.

When he looked back at Varric, Varric was watching him closely.  “So, she finally went for it, huh?  Nothing like the promise of disappearing to give you two the stones to make a move.”  Cullen opened his mouth - perhaps to deny it, possibly to ask what Varric meant.  Varric held up his hand, cutting the man off before he could even start.  “It doesn’t matter, Curly, haven’t you been listening?  The Chantry is here, and they’re looking for Hawke.  She needs to get out of here.  She’s going to be gone as soon as she gets her ass back down here.”

“And you’re going to be the only one who knows where she goes,” Cullen surmised.

Varric didn’t blink.  “That’s right.  It’s the only way to be sure she’s safe.”

Cullen wasn’t sure why he wanted to argue.  The appeal to his tryst with Hawke was that he’d never see her again.  Somehow that had changed over the course of the night, too.

Hawke was back before Cullen could think of anything to say.  He and Varric had stared at one another, each waiting for the other to pull the first punch.  But neither did, and Hawke was suddenly in the room again.  “My bags are by the back door,” she murmured.  She was wearing a black, slim riding suit.  “I assume you have horses?”

“Outside,” he confirmed.  “We’re going to get some looks riding around town, so we do this quick and quiet.  None of your sightseeing or stopping to help random people on the street, got it?”

“What about Jakke?” she asked quickly.

“He’s fast, he can keep up,” Varric said, grabbing her hip and tugging her toward the doorway.  “We need to go.”

“Hold on,” she snapped, moving away from him and toward Cullen.  She stood in front of him, looking real.  Looking anxious.  Looking scared.  Looking apologetic.  “I… thank you.  For everything you’ve done that I know about and don’t.  You’ve been… good to me.”

Cullen nodded, unable to find his voice.  She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck and he finally whispered, “I know this is against the rules… but I am going to miss you, Marian Hawke.”

She chuckled and kissed his cheek.  Before she pulled back, she pressed a brass key into his hand. “Take anything you want from the estate. Live here if you want, if you stay in Kirkwall.  And… take care of yourself, Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”

And then she was gone, slipping away with her best friend and sometimes-lover.  Her mabari bounced at her heels; he seemed thrilled at the prospect of a long, swift run out of Kirkwall.


	2. Lay Low

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything! 
> 
> **Chapter Notes: Smut Warning.** Edited: 8/2017
> 
> The song inspiration for this chapter goes to ["Low," by TRACE.](https://open.spotify.com/track/4mxNpTSvmKCaQKdWhWnkCz) Please enjoy!

* * *

 

**9:41 Dragon**

**Cullen Rutherford**

Cullen hadn't had a chance to speak with the Inquisitor in weeks. Lady Ellana Lavellan had been busy tending to their new home, Skyhold, over the past two fortnights. She was preoccupied with securing areas for the mages to practice their skills without startling anyone or catching the Keep on fire. She had been pouring over the war table and taking expeditions to the Western Approach. She had her small hands full and, when she was able to relax, she seemed to most enjoy perusing Solas’ never ending tomes and scrolls on the Fade and magic.

For Cullen, the most distressing thing about the Inquisitor was her striking resemblance to another elven mage who Cullen used to know.  The one he pined for in the Ferelden Circle.  The one he watched be torn apart by Maleficarum.  It had been hard at first, the constant reminder of Alyndra. Cullen was not pleased to learn that all it took to bring the old wounds to fester was a slight body, green eyes, and pale hair.

She was quiet as Alyndra was, too. Polite. Skittish. She was always anxious when she carried her staff through the Keep, always worried she might scare someone.  She'd been a Circle mage much of her life - her powers had manifested at a young age when she brought her alienage tree back to life after a harsh drought.  Shunned for trying to help so long ago, she was still worried about drawing unnecessary attention to herself.

Even so, Lavellan was not Alyndra.  Cullen didn’t find himself attracted to her or drawn to her, but it was difficult not to be startled by her from time to time.  His unease around her seemed to have rubbed off - she would hold very still when they were in a room together, unthreatening, as if concerned that the former templar might change his mind about her.  

Cullen thought deeply on all of this as he walked toward the main hall, trying to determine how best to belay the mage’s fears of him.  He could always tell her the truth, he mused.  Tell her about Alyndra.  But that could make things just as uncomfortable as telling her nothing at all.

He passed through Solas’ empty room in time to see Cassandra throw the door to Josephine’s receiving room open, shouting, “Did you know about this?!”  

Varric was hovering near the throne, seeming torn between making a break for it and storming after the Seeker.  He found a middle ground, it seemed, and moved to the closest fireplace, warming his hands and sending furtive glances toward Josephine’s office.

“Maker,” Cullen breathed, unsure what confused him more.  Cassandra’s open rage was concerning, of course, but Varric’s lack of a smile was even more so.  Cullen was about to approach the dwarf when he noticed Leliana sitting at one of the long tables with a tankard of mead and a faint smile on her face.

Cullen made his way toward her and, in an undertone, asked, “What has Cassandra worked up this afternoon?”

“We had a new arrival at Skyhold. She came late in the night, hidden away by Varric in the hopes that Cassandra wouldn't notice.  That, of course, did not turn out well for Varric.”

“Who arrived?” Cullen asked, trying not to snip. The spymaster was good at her job - too good at times. She spoke in riddles and conjecture, her words rarely conveying the entire story. It was something that made her an asset to the Inquisition and an annoyance to Cullen.

“Who is the one person Cassandra obsessed over since the explosion at the Kirkwall Chantry?”

Cullen’s blood ran cold.  It couldn’t be.  There was no way that…. “She is here?”

“The former Champion,” Leliana confirmed. She watched him closely, carefully, as if trying to gauge his reaction to the words.  Almost as if she had some inkling of an ill-advised night four years ago, one which he spent with the Champion.  An ill-advised night that Cullen still pined after.

Cullen swallowed and did his best to remain calm. Nothing good came of showing one's fear.  Even so, he knew that his world was about to be shifted all over again, all because of the return of a single woman. The return of the woman he had been so sure he would never see again.  The woman he had fallen in love and out of love with more times than he could wrap his brain around.  The woman who somehow infiltrated his dreams most nights with her impish smirk and desire demon curves.  “Where, exactly, is she?”

“She intends to speak with the Inquisitor when she returns from the Hissing Wastes. I believe she is currently staying in the tavern. She mentioned wishing to speak with you if you have a free moment.”  Leliana’s smile did not waver, did not tell him what she thought of such a request. It made Cullen assume she knew more than she let on - her mask was too firmly in place.

Cullen grunted.  “I have work to do. If she needs something from me, I will be in my office.”

Leliana nodded, raising her mug in a salute or goodbye. “If I see her, I will tell her so.”

Cullen retreated to his office by way of Solas’ room. He couldn't chance walking through the thoroughfare. It would have been too easy to become trapped in the presence of a woman he'd never expected to see again.

 

* * *

 

It was late evening before Cullen had realized any time had passed. The sun was slipping below the mountains and casting everything in shadow. Cold winds blew in harsher at that time of day, as if they were ushering the coming moon.  Cullen stared out over it all from the battlements, his knuckles white as they gripped the stone.

He knew she was behind him at the mouth of the steps. He hadn't heard her approach, but he had smelled her unmistakable scent on the cold wind. She always smelled like something warm and spiced. He had caught whiffs of it each time she’d snuck up behind him in the Gallows, trying to lure him into conversation or flirtations.  He had smelled it deeply on her skin when they’d made love in her estate the night before they parted ways.

“Well, well.  Fancy seeing you here,” Hawke said, that same edge of humor to her voice.

Cullen turned, finally facing her. Hawke looked tired. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her smile was more weary than amused. But she was still lovely; she was still the same Hawke he'd last seen all those years ago as she walked away from him. From her estate. From Kirkwall.

“You don't look too pleased to see me,” she observed. “I was told Cassandra is taking my presence poorly…  and loudly. So I apologize for that inconvenience.”

Cullen stared at her, at her dark riding outfit. It was the same one she'd worn when she walked away from him four years prior. More worn at the knees and elbows than it had been, creased from riding, but it caressed her body the same way.  Her hair was still like the depths of night, so dark it reflected all other light around her.  It was slightly longer now, falling in loose waves around her jaw.

Hawke cleared her throat, and Cullen realized he hadn't said a single thing to her.

“Well,” she said, slapping her thighs lightly. “I should go find Varric. Or a bottomless barrel of whiskey.”

“Do you want to come inside?” he asked suddenly. When she raised an eyebrow, he shook his head, flustered and frustrated at the fact that Marian Hawke had just strolled back into his life and he wasn't actively pushing her away. He was going to somehow fall into her trap just before she left him.  Again.  “My office. It's just here.”

Hawke nodded slowly and followed him through the heavy door into his sanctuary. He lit the candles surrounding the office, turning only when he completed the task.  He had expected her to have taken a chair - probably his, as she did enjoy her jests.  But instead, she was sitting on the corner of his desk, kicking her feet out in front of her playfully.  A stack of reports and raven scrolls had been displaced, dumped unceremoniously onto other projects.  

“Hawke, no, what -- that is _important,_ you can't just move it around without care,” Cullen protested, rushing to her side and attempting to assemble some hint of tidiness to the desk. He had hoped that his tone would inspire a bit of remorse from the rogue, but she only chuckled.

“Important?” she repeated. Her hand snatched a piece of parchment up, glancing over it. _“Two rams have gone missing at Redcliffe Farms.”_  She rolled her eyes at him. “Really? My comfort is less important than a slip of parchment that has no impact on you whatsoever?”

“Missing rams means less meat and pelts for our troops and refugees, Hawke. There's a perfectly good chair there,” he insisted, pointing to the one across the desk from them. “Besides, your comfort has nothing to do with why you chose to sit here.”

“You're right. Just as I am right when I surmise that your annoyance has nothing to do with the displaced rubbish on your desk.” As if to illustrate her point, she tossed the parchment to the ground.

“Hawke,” he snapped. She picked up another piece of paper. Her eyes were daring him to stop her as she angled herself, a knee pressing between his thighs. He took a deep breath and tried to maintain his composure. “This is wholly unprofessional-”

“Why wouldn't you come see me?” she asked.

“I-”

“Leliana mentioned you looked upset when she told you I was here.”

“She told you-” he broke off, realizing his mistake too late.

“She didn't, I just assumed,” Hawke admitted, grinning at him. “So, I shall ask again. Why didn't you come to see me? I thought it'd be fun to get a drink with you. Just like old times.”

“We only had a handful of interactions, Hawke, and almost all of them were under duress or unsavory circumstances.”

Hawke tossed the parchment to the floor, eyes never leaving his. “I seem to recall a few interactions that were pleasant. And I think you do, too.”

Cullen shook his head and pulled away from her, running a hand through his hair and going to the slotted window, glancing out at the darkening mountain range.  “Hawke, this is unprofessional. We cannot… we cannot forget why we're here. What we need to accomplish.”

“I haven't forgotten,” Hawke replied calmly. “I'm here to see your Inquisitor when she arrives, to answer her questions as best as I can, and then to help in whatever capacity she needs me. But your Inquisitor isn't here right now, it's too late for you to be killing yourself over these scrolls that don’t matter, and you look like you needed a distraction. Maybe I do, too.  I'm not here to haunt you; I'm not your very own personal demon. If you want me to leave, tell me so.”

“I…  do not,” he admitted with a sigh.

“See?  I knew there was something more between us than all that.”

Cullen turned back to her, taking in the way she sat there, teasing him, patiently waited for him to grow a spine, to make a choice.  He stepped toward her, one step after another until he was in front of her.  She leaned back on her hands, fingers splaying across requisition requests and copies of orders sent to the front.

He placed his hands on either side of her hips and leaned in, his face a breath away from hers. “I thought we said we'd never see one another again?”

She chuckled, her lips brushing across his with each word. “I guess we proved ourselves to be liars, didn't we?”

There was a knock on the door, and Cullen pulled back from Hawke quickly. The wood swung open, and the elven Inquisitor hesitated in the doorway, wide, confused eyes sliding between Cullen and the woman sitting on his desk.

Hawke slowly slid off of the wood, turning a lazy smile onto Ellana Lavellan.

"I, ah,” Lavellan began in her small, birdlike voice.  “I can come back if-”

“No, no, um,” Cullen stammered running a hand over the back of his neck. He knew it flushed with his embarrassment. “Inquisitor, this is Marian Hawke, the former Champion of Kirkwall.”

Lavellan’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh! I was just on my way to find you in the tavern. I have some questions about Corypheus.  Varric said you already killed him once?”

“Well, I was fairly sure I did.  He was definitely dead when we left the chamber,” Hawke said smoothly, stepping from around the table to take the elf’s arm in hers. “Let me buy you a drink, we'll find a quiet place in the tavern, and I can tell you everything I know.”

Cullen watched them leave, the Inquisitor soothing into Hawke’s arm effortlessly as they walked and spoke. Hawke had always been easy to talk to, easy to trust.  Perhaps it was something in her soft face. Perhaps it was something in her delicate, teasing voice.  Perhaps she just bewitched everyone she met, Lavellan - and Cullen - included.

 

* * *

 

Cullen had loitered in his office until well past midnight. He had expected Hawke to return, up to her old antics. He had wanted her to, though he found Denial was an easier mistress to appease than Honesty.

But Hawke hadn't returned. Cullen waited until he was too tired to make out the penmanship on the requisition requests and headed for the tavern. The walk there was dark and cold and he found himself still shivering by the time he made it to the ground level of the Herald’s Rest.

And, as he should have guessed, Hawke was there at the bar. He thought about leaving even though running into her was the largest reason for his late night stroll.  So Cullen took a breath and steeled himself against his raging emotions.  He sat on the stool beside her as if he wasn't concerned about being so close to her.  As if he could trust himself when he was around her.  It was probably the thing that made her so intoxicating - her unpredictability and the unpredictability she inspired in others.

She glanced over at him briefly, smiling, before turning her attention back to the Iron Bull.  The behemoth was sitting in his usual chair along the wall, sprawled out and snoring loudly.  "I can't believe I took down a Qunari singlehandedly," she finally said, sounding impressed and surprised all at the same time.

“He talks about your fight with the Arishok as if you were a God,” Cullen said finally. “Says he'd like to try his hand at fighting you. Granted, that was when everyone thought you were dead or living as a hermit in Orlais.”

“Orlais?” she repeated with a laugh, turning her gaze to him. “Why does everyone assume I like Orlais?”

"How effortlessly you play the Game? A better climate, less wet dog smell?”

She snorted. “Well, I happen to like the wet dog smell.  And the things Orlais does to their food?  I mean… despair? Who needs more despair in their lives, let alone their diets?”

“So you've been in Ferelden all of this time?” he pressed.  The barkeep brought him a mug of mead and his fingers curved around the tankard, the cold of it biting into his hands. Cold like her hands had been four years ago.

“Not entirely,” she admitted.  “Though it has mostly been Ferelden.  A bit of fun in Orlais, a few trips to the Deep Roads….”  She shrugged as if it was inconsequential.  “But, here I am.  Sitting in another tavern on another late night, watching you trying to get the nerve to talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” he said, not understanding.

Hawke rolled her eyes and chuckled softly, taking a pull from her mug.  “Damn if the alcohol isn’t better, though. Your Inquisitor knows how to keep up morale - good food and better drinks.”

Cullen would not be distracted.  Her glib expression was wearing him down.  “You wish to speak plainly?  Fine.  Where have you been for four years?”

She cleared her throat and turned on her barstool, her knee bumping against his.  “I’ve been researching the red lyrium, like the idol that drove Meredith mad.  I haven’t been able to find much - the Circles are torn apart, and their libraries stripped.  The dwarves I have spoken to are secretive, reclusive, and want nothing to do with my inquiries.  And the stuff itself doesn’t seem particularly chatty until you touch it and it melts your mind, so.”  She cleared her throat.  “You?”

“I spent time with family, and then I was called upon to serve here. Given an opportunity to lead for a noble cause.  I’ve been here since, training recruits and moving troops through too many territories for one person to feasibly keep up with.  I need help, but we have no one skilled enough in tactics who can be spared from other duties.  I have no time to train someone to assist me.  And I am trying not to think about all of the possible ways we could fail in the coming months.  Or years.”

Her hand found his, gripping it.  It was still like ice, still oddly comforting.  “Cullen, you worry too much.”

“I believe I am being paid to worry,” he argued softly.

Her hand tightened around his.  “What’s going on?”  Before he could deny anything, she added, “You’re different. There’s something… there’s tiredness, pain.  I don’t know; it’s just….”

He was aware what she referred to, of course - he’d been noticing it for months.  The lyrium had always given him an edge.  He had been more aggressive, more willing to do reckless things... like falling into bed with a woman who almost single-handedly caused the Mage Rebellion.  He was tired because when he tried to sleep, he would have nightmarish dreams.  When he was awake, the pain in his very bones felt as though he might burst or melt at any given moment.

“Oooh!” a voice squeaked from the stairs.  “Stuffed shirt getting under a stuffed shirt finally?  And a Queen Champion Pants, at that.  Figures.  Fancy knobs for boring knobs.”  

Hawke looked utterly perplexed as she turned to look at the impish, slightly insane elf who was coming down the steps.  “Who-”

“Sera, she is… not exactly on the same field that we are.  I mostly have to ignore her for fear of losing my mind trying to puzzle her out.”

Hawke chuckled and shook her head, turning back to her drink once Sera flounced out of the tavern.  “I have the impression that I am the fancy knob in that scenario, and I also have a feeling that she doesn’t much care for me.”

“She doesn’t much care for anyone,” he assured her.  “Not even the Inquisitor.  Says she’s _too elfy_ , and then makes a big fuss about fig pudding.”

“Hmm, it seems hard to _not_ like Lavellan,” Hawke admitted, sipping her mead.  “She’s sweet.  And she’s beautiful - and that voice? I think I would die happy listening to her recite grimoires.”

Cullen chuckled and shook his head.  They were silent for a time, drinking and listening to the fire crackling behind them.  Their drinks were replaced with fresh ones, and Cullen found himself saying, “She reminds me of Alyndra.”

“I wondered,” Hawke said softly. “Have you two…?”

“No,” he said quickly.  “No, it is nothing at all like… that.”

“Is it difficult? Being around her?”

“It is,” he murmured.  “And it isn’t.  There’s… there’s nothing there aside from a shared resemblance. Even so… the reminder can be startling.”

“Of course.”  They fell into silence again before Hawke asked, “What about the biggest fear you've faced?  Still the same?”

He didn’t answer because he wasn’t sure if he could.  His worst moment of fear _had_ changed.  It had become somehow more personal than waiting for death at the hands of Maleficarum. It had become more personal because he had heard whispers that Hawke had been found dead along the Wounded Coast just days after she had left him in her estate. 

Cullen had gone to the morgue, of course.  They had let him in, not realizing he was technically no longer with the templars.  He didn’t spend much time ruminating on it; he was too busy scanning the body that was supposed to be Marian Hawke.  The head was all but gone, smashed along the rocky coast, and the body had been out in the sun among the scavengers for a few days.  Even so, Cullen had taken one look at the body and known it wasn’t Hawke. The scar on her arm from the Bone Pit dragon wasn’t on the body.  And, most obviously, her dragon tattoo wasn’t on the skin of the dead woman.

Cullen couldn’t give this information, of course.  The information was too intimate for him to have known. And it was better for Hawke if others thought her dead.  It would be easier for her to move freely if the Chantry stopped their hunt for her. If the Seekers thought she was indeed gone forever.

But when he had heard that Hawke was dead, her head dashed against the rocks, Cullen had felt his spirit leave his body for a few moments.  He could see everything in crystal clarity, and everything focused on those words. _The Champion is dead.  Head smashed all over the rocks._  

The fear he knew for those two hours before he saw the body… it was the most staggering fear he had ever felt.

He hadn’t answered her question, but she didn’t press or pry.  They finished their mugs before Cullen murmured, “Do you want to come back up?”

“Perhaps,” she laughed softly, teasingly.  “Do those doors lock?”

Cullen flushed.  “I don’t mean -- I only meant-”

She raised an eyebrow at him, her smile faltering.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  Do you need… sleep or something?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted.  “Sleep eludes me most nights; it is making it hard for me to focus.”

Hawke watched him carefully before saying, “Let’s get you to bed. Where’s your place? The barracks?”

“My office. There is a loft.”

Hawke rolled her eyes as she slid off of the barstool.  “Why didn’t I guess that you sleep right next to your desk?  Come on.”

Cullen laughed softly and got to his feet.  “I am fully capable of walking to my own office unassisted, Champion.”

“I’m not a Champion anymore, but sometimes I need to feel like one,” she joked.  "I can't leave you to your own devices; you may decide to send out orders to the front that make no sense or kill them all.”

They went back by way of the ramparts.  Cullen wondered if Hawke was trying to keep out of sight or she was worried about his reputation.  Either way, her dark riding hood covered her face from view, and she stayed in the shadows, moving quickly and quietly.

“You’ve been training,” he noticed aloud.  Hawke walked with more swing to her hips now, her gait quicker and more silent, her body commanding the darkness around her effortlessly.

“I may have found someone to help me with some of my less savory escapades while in Orlais.”

Assassin, he realized with a start.  He had wondered why her increased prowess had reminded him of Leliana.

When they arrived at his office, Hawke slid the hood off and coiled it on the chair in front of his desk.  “Alright, get up the ladder and get in bed.”

Cullen was more surprised than he wanted to be when he realized she was not planning on scaling the ladder with him.  She sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, and smirked.  “Something wrong?”

Cullen felt his neck going red.  What he wouldn’t give for the lyrium-confidence swelling through his veins. His liquid courage, liquid strength.  She was a master at emotional chess, and he couldn’t even hope to keep up with her now.

He didn’t answer her and instead climbed the ladder. He busied himself with the candle beside his bed and removing his outer and underclothes. When he finally made it into the bed, he let out an annoyed sigh. The mattress was lumpy and smelled vaguely of burnt fennel; it had never bothered him until that moment.  He knew his irritability had nothing to do with the mattress, but it felt nice to blame his feelings on something more tangible than the rogue sitting at his desk.

“Do I need to come check and make sure you’re in bed, or can I trust you from here?” she called up to him.  Her voice was teasing again, light-hearted.

Cullen closed his eyes and found his voice for long enough to return, “You duties are done, Champion.  You may proceed at your discretion.”

“Ooh, a non-answer.  Intriguing.”  He heard her blowing out the candles around his office, slowly darkening the room.  Everything was silent until Cullen smelled her in the air, close.  He almost shouted when she lowered herself onto the bed, sitting right beside him.  Her face leaned down next to his, and she smirked.  “What’s going on, Rutherford?”

“I -- Hawke-”

“Let’s not do this dance all over again.  Do you want me to leave?”

Cullen watched her face carefully.  He could see her frustration, but there was something else in her expression. Something vulnerable, something needy.  “No,” he finally answered past the lump in his throat.

“That’s better,” she murmured, her lips caressing over his jaw.  “Isn’t it better when we’re just honest with each other?  None of the pretenses,” she licked his ear, “none of the lies,” her tongue flitted across his jugular, “none of the horseshit.”

“Hawke-”

She pulled back, her expression serious. “What’s going on with you, Rutherford?  Is this Inquisition not what it seems?  Do I need to worry about the Inquisitor?  What’s going on that has you so on edge?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he said quickly, sitting up on his elbows. “The Inquisition, the Inquisitor - they are both just.  This is… personal. It has nothing to do with my work.”

“Are you seeing someone?” she asked. Her tone was neutral, but he caught the glimmer of anxiousness that passed through her eyes.

“Maker's breath, Hawke, you know I - no. No, there is no one else.”

Hawke slowly relaxed at that.  She watched him for a moment before pulling her riding tunic off of her, letting the garment fall to the wooden loft floor.  She stood and slid out of her breeches, leaving her only in smallclothes.  Her breast binding and underwear were both a startling shade of crimson against her pale skin.  “What’s going on?” she repeated softly, pushing her boots away from the bed.

“I quit taking lyrium,” he finally answered.  He knew Hawke would never give up until she got an answer and her state of undress was distracting him.  “It is a… complicated process.”

Her face softened.  She slowly pushed her smallclothes off and moved the blanket from Cullen’s legs.  She effortlessly straddled his waist, her warm center pressing against his stirring cock.  She leaned down, her lips finding his.  When she pulled back, she whispered, “You’ve faced down worse than lyrium, Knight-Commander.”

“I was never-”

She placed a hand over his lips, stopping him from continuing.  Her hips began to move in small, soft figure eights and his cock hardened and lengthened as they did.  She slid onto him, her passage resisting at first and making her let out a pained breath.  But soon she was surrounding him with her warmth, her icy fingers still on his lips.  When she pulled them back, she whispered, “Forgive the sudden clichéd romantic confession, but I have always thought of you as my personal Knight-Commander.”

Cullen wheezed as her walls tightened around him.  He had to concentrate on not releasing so quickly, but it was becoming difficult - it had been a very long, lonely four years since he had been intimate with anyone.  It made it worse - and better - that it was Hawke who both started and ended his dry spell.

She rode him in fluid, measured movements and he watched her as she did, gripping her thighs and admiring how her scars glinted in the candlelight, in the faint blush of moonlight coming through the broken thatch above them.  Their time in her estate had been something close to magical - the perfect setting, the perfect timing, the morbid romanticism of it all.  But this felt more real.  They weren’t children trying to impress one another.  Hawke was there because she needed him, wanted him, and she trusted him just as he trusted her.  She had seen pieces of him that he’d never wished for anyone to see, but she hadn’t run from them.  She had never run from what was difficult.

Except for the Inquisition, of course.

But there she was - late, but there.  And she was above him, her chest rising and falling as raspy pants flitted between her lips.  Cullen watched those lips as his hands traced up her body, over the multitude of scars, up to her full breasts and pert nipples.  He kneaded the flesh, delighting in her small moans.

One of his hands slid between their bodies, finding the little nub between her legs and gently pressing against it.  Her body rocked it over his thumb, and she hissed at the feeling, her breath stammering.  Cullen’s other hand caressed the back of her neck, her hair dusting across his hand in soft raven-wing waves. She looked windblown and wild, and it only made his skin long for her more deeply.  He pulled her down to him, his mouth covering hers.  Hawke melted against him, her body coiling over his, hips still driving deep and slow above him.  Her tongue licked across his lower lip until he opened to her, letting her tongue slide inside to bump against his.

She was trembling after a few minutes of exploring tongues and hands, their pelvises rocking together like the sea and the shore.  Cullen held her close, a hand running through her hair, the other caressing her back, feeling the scar tissue of her tattoo under his fingers.

She came with a soft whimper against his neck. Her whole body stilled for a few moments as she caught her breath.  She sat up slowly, her hips beginning to move again, to circle his.  Cullen reached up to caress his thumbs over her cheeks, the soft skin cool to the touch.  Cullen wanted to tell her that he had missed her, that he had thought about her more times that he would ever admit.  But he kept his mouth shut and merely touched her.

She probably knew it all, anyway.  Hawke had a habit of looking at a person and knowing their weaknesses, knowing the things they could never speak aloud.  And if Cullen had a weakness other than his lyrium vice, it would be Marian Hawke - the one he could never arrest, the one he could never stop from speaking out, inciting panic and resistance.

She tightened herself around him, and he let out a strangled gasp, his climax swelling up around him.  “Hawke, I-”

“I know,” she whispered. “Let go.”

His fingers gripping into her sides tightly as he gasped through the waves of the orgasm, his eyes closed and mouth open, head thrown back.  The stars behind his eyelids seemed to slide through his body, leaving quakes of brightly colored light.

Hawke stayed in place while he came down from the orgasm, his ears ringing and throat dry.  Once he was able to think about things other than lights and stars, he released Hawke’s sides and she slid off of him.  She laid beside him on the burnt fennel mattress and let out a pleased sigh.

After a few minutes of silence, she murmured, “I should probably get back to the tavern.”

He turned to look at her, his brow furrowing.  “What?  Stay.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble with the Inquisitor again,” she chuckled, running a hand through her hair. “She seemed alarmed at our proximity before.  I am not sure she would approve of me being in her Commander’s bed.”

Cullen almost let her go.  Almost let her slip away from him again.  But he summoned that small bit of fire the lyrium hadn’t stolen and pulled her into him.  “I thought I was your Knight-Commander?  I don’t tolerate insubordination, Hawke.”

She chuckled, ducking her head to his chest and kissing it.  “I didn’t think you were the type, Rutherford.  Typically this kind of play gets out of hand quickly.”

“More backtalk?” he pressed his mouth against her ear, loving how she shuddered against him. “Your mouth isn’t doing much good talking.”

Hawke’s chuckle was throaty as she lowered herself down his body, her mouth encircling his cock and sucking it into her mouth, expertly coaxing it back to life.

 

* * *

 

“I move faster on my own.  I should be able to make a path to Stroud and leave word with your forward scout when I find the exact location.”

“No offense meant, my Lady,” Leliana began softly, smoothing a hand across _Crestwood_ on the map.  “I believe we would all feel more comfortable if you were to accompany the Inquisitor.  To act as a backup in case you run into anything more serious than bandits.”

Hawke looked between the three advisors on the opposite side of the war table, eyes narrowing slightly.  “So… do you not trust me, or do you not trust your Inquisitor?”

“Wha-” Lavellan sputtered, wide eyes growing larger.

“Lady Hawke-” Josephine attempted to interject.

“If you don’t trust me, fine, so be it. But if you want me to babysit your Inquisitor because you don’t trust _her,_ then I need to know that. After what happened in Kirkwall, I can’t-”

“Hawke, this isn’t that,” Cullen insisted, meeting her gaze, letting her see how serious he was.  “We trust the Inquisitor.  We are confident in you and your abilities.  We would simply like for there to be strength in numbers.  We have numerous reports of the undead and fade rifts scattering the countryside.  If your Warden is in the vicinity you say, it will be rife with demons and any other forces that have moved in.”

Hawke held his gaze before deflating.  Her shoulders were taut - Cullen made a mental note to massage them when they were alone.  “Alright,” Hawke said softly.  “We play this your way, we all go in together.  But I want to move fast,” Hawke reiterated.  “So pick the team accordingly.”

“We do have horses, as well,” Lavellan supplied helpfully.  “I will have Dennett prepare the barded chargers and we will set out the day after tomorrow at sunrise. Is this agreeable?”

“Perfect,” Hawke replied.  She glanced between the Inquisitor and advisers before giving a nod.  “Apologies for my manners, I’ve been alone in the wilds far too long.  I will leave you all to your planning.  If anyone needs me, I’ll be around the main room.”

With Varric.  Cullen had been slightly surprised she hadn’t been with her friend more often.  He wondered, briefly, if there had been a falling out.  He assumed not - he assumed that if there had been, Hawke would have mentioned something.

Or she wouldn’t have.  They didn’t exactly discuss much before they retired to his loft.

“Cullen?”

Cullen snapped to attention.  Everyone was staring at him and he hadn’t even noticed that Hawke was already gone.  “Sorry, yes?”

Lavellan watched him for a second too long before repeating, “Can you secure a passage through the Frostbacks?  And how soon can we begin mapping the terrain?”

“Of course, I can get forces on that immediately,” he said, clearing his throat and making a note on his parchment.  “Give me a few days to acquire the men and another week for travel and raven messenger.  We should know what we need to clear the pass by the fortnight’s end.”

“Good.  As always, see if it can be sooner.  Josephine, could you look into the Merchant Guild’s requests?  They are beginning to pile up and-”

 

* * *

 

As Cullen approached Varric's table, he heard the dwarf ask, “-still good in the sack?”

“Varric, I’m not answering that,” Hawke chuckled, sipping from her tankard.

Varric glanced over her shoulder then and caught sight of Cullen.  He smirked at the Commander, continuing, “Well, maybe I’ll just ask Curly about it since you're so dodgy.”

“Varric-” she began but turned to follow his gaze. When she saw Cullen, she groaned and reached back to punch Varric’s arm.

“Oww,” he laughed, putting a hand on the arm. “What the hell, Hawke?”

“That’s for being such a shit all of the goddamn time.”  She turned to Cullen as he came to stand beside her chair.  “Want to have a seat?  We’ve been trying to get a game of Wicked Grace together, but this numbskull keeps driving everyone away by trying to get information on my sex life.”

“She’s usually not this withholding, Curly,” Varric added.  “You’re either the best thing on this plane of existence or the worst.”

Cullen sputtered for a moment while Varric chuckled and Hawke ran a hand over her face, trying to hide her smile.  “I can come back-”

“Come on, Curly, don’t be like that. Have a seat, take off the broody mask and let’s drink.”

“And play cards,” Hawke reminded him.

“And play cards!”

Cullen sighed and took a seat across from Hawke, his foot tentatively reaching out to brush against hers.  She smiled softly and looked at him through the sweep of her long bangs.  Varric began shuffling the cards and said nonchalantly, “So, if I hypothetically kicked my foot out right now, which one of you would I hit?”

Hawke’s laughter was infectious.  Cullen found himself hiding a smile behind an upturned palm.  His foot didn’t move from her leg and Varric did not attempt to find out the answer to his question.

 

* * *

 

The darker it became, the drunker Cullen got and the harder it was to keep his eyes from roving over to where Hawke was sitting across from him.  She was laughing, thrilled with the company that had joined their Wicked Grace extravaganza.  The Iron Bull was doing his damnedest to charm her, much to her amusement.  Dorian, always one to flirt, turned his attentions to everyone equally.  Josephine was adorably tipsy, and Cassandra seemed torn between looking disgusted and pleased with the amount of laughter and flirtatious banter.  Cole took to flickering in and out of view, offering cryptic advice on the game that no one could understand.  

The Inquisitor had joined them late in the evening, looking awkward but determined to bond with her team further.  The table was full at that point, but when Blackwall arrived there was a fuss to find him a seat.  Hawke stood up, always gracious, and said, “Here, right here.  Varric can scoot over and share his chair.”

“Have you seen me recently, Hawke?” Varric laughed.  “Do you see how well I fill out this chair?  I mean, I know we’ve made tighter spaces work,” he teased and Hawke snorted, covering her face with a hand.  

Lavellan cleared her throat, shifting in her chair uncomfortably.  “Um… I could go, if...?”

“No, no, stay, Ellana,” Hawke insisted. “I’ll just have to bother Cullen.”  Her eyelids batted at him coyly.  

Varric was laughing, the Iron Bull was chortling, and Cullen was fairly sure his neck was on fire.  He took a few breaths, lost in the cold blue color of Hawke’s eyes and the sneaky tilt to her lips.

“You are more than welcome to this lap,” Bull offered with a grin, leaning back in his chair.  “Standing offer, just for you.  Or you,” he added to a young redheaded maid passing by their table.

Hawke snorted.  “Not sure I can trust you to keep those hands to yourself, Bull.  I’d like not to be split in half tonight if you happened to sneeze.”

Riotous laughter.  Hawke turned her pleased eyes back to Cullen, cocking an eyebrow at him.  “What do you say, Knight-Commander?” she purred.  “Have room for an assassin on top of you?”

“I think we can arrange that,” he managed finally.  He wasn’t sure how awkward the night could become, but he was about to find out, it seemed.  The tempest in a tiny, perfect body guided Blackwall into her seat as if she expected him to have trouble finding it.  She then slid around the table and onto Cullen’s lap.

New cards were passed out but all Cullen could focus on was her weight on him, the feel of each wiggle, each adjustment she made sending electricity through his body.  She acted as if it didn’t affect her - she teased the others mercilessly after each fold, her playful tone easing everyone into loud, boisterous banter and calls.  A scribe was spending all of his time filling their tankards which they were draining with stunning speed.

Hawke wavered on his lap a few times and Cullen had decided to hook one of his arms around her to keep her in place.  It made it difficult to keep his cards in order, or to keep his brain on the task at hand, but it forced her closer to him, the swell of her breasts bumping into his neck each time she leaned toward him.  Her legs ended up between his, her knee occasionally brushing across his already alert cock.  He did his best to maintain his composure, but he was sure everyone else could tell that his discomfort had morphed into something else.

“How about we up the stakes?” Dorian suggested suddenly.  “I’ve never played this game before, but I assume there is a naked version of it?”

“Wicked Strip,” Varric confirmed.

Lavellan was coughing suddenly, her face nearly purple. “Ah, I’m not sure if this is a proper setting for-”

“I am leaving,” Cassandra interrupted, getting to her feet and swaying a bit.  “I have seen enough bared skin from some of you - more than I ever needed.  I don’t need to see the rest of you.”

“Aww, Cassandra, I’m hurt,” Hawke cooed.  “I’ve never had any complaints before.”

Cassandra snorted and left, making her way toward the barracks. Lavellan also got to her feet swiftly.  “I have some training I needed to get done.  I’ll be with Solas if anyone needs me.”  Her pale hair shimmered as she quickly took her leave.

Cole had either fully left the game at some point, or he was keeping silent and invisible.  Blackwall also left, grumbling something about not wanting to put anyone off with his wrinkles.  Hawke, of course, had tried to flatter him into staying, but her charms didn’t seem to work on the grizzled Warden.

By the time the next hand was passed out, the table was much emptier.  The only ones left were Varric, Bull, Dorian, Cullen, and Hawke.  “Your other ladies seem insanely modest,” Hawke observed.

“Not everyone had the pleasure of being friends with a Rivaini pirate,” Varric reminded her before calling the bet.

“Perhaps,” Hawke acquiesced before adding, “I’ll raise three sovereigns.”

Cullen nearly choked on his mead.  “You are bluffing!”

She shrugged nonchalantly.  “Call me and let’s see.”

It went on with that, everyone calling and raising her.  She seemed nonplussed when she had to flip her cards over and show off-suited, unmatched cards.

“Hawke, you didn’t even look at your hand,” Varric chided.  “Is Cullen’s presence sapping your talents?”

Hawke chuckled, wrapping an arm around Cullen’s neck.  “He’s a bit distracting, I’ll admit, but I have a plan, dwarf.”  She pulled away slightly so she could slide her tunic up and over her head, tossing it at Bull whose booming laugh filled the hall.

The next hand went the same way - Hawke didn’t look at her cards and lost handily.

“Hawke, seriously, what are you trying to do to Curly?  He's probably lost all of his blood to his dick,” Varric chided her.  “Well, maybe not all. He has to keep that neck flush up.”

Hawke began unwinding her breast binding, still smirking.  “Did you learn nothing from Isabela?” she murmured.  “Lose the first two hands in Wicked Strip and win all of the other ones.  At least, that’s how it works for women.”  

Her breasts exposed, she looped the binding around Cullen’s neck like a scarf.  “Next hand?”

She had been right, of course.  The Iron Bull grunted his appreciation of the view many times and lost three hands in a row, leaving him down to absolutely no clothing at all.  Dorian hadn’t been too distracted by Hawke, of course, but he did seem quite impressed with her scars - and her tattoo when she showed it off.  Iron Bull supplied a _That’s bad ass!_ in approval.  

By the end of the night, Varric had lost his tunic and breeches, Iron Bull was still fully naked, and Hawke hadn’t lost a single thing she hadn’t purposely lost.  Cullen had been smart enough to fold all but once and kept most of his clothing on.  Dorian still had all of his clothing which he seemed slightly annoyed about.

As they redressed, Hawke leaving her bindings off but sliding her tunic back on, Bull said, “Well, I would be happy to play another hand.  Maybe somewhere a little more comfortable?” His eyes never left Hawke as he said it.

Hawke smirked.  “I’m not sure who you’re talking to, but I think I need to get some sleep as quickly as possible.”

Cullen felt his heart sink at that.  Of course, she needed sleep - she hadn’t gotten much of it the previous night and she had to be on a horse, riding for Crestwood in a little over 36 hours.  If anything, she needed to sleep through the evening and following day.

She yawned and stretched, turning her attention onto Cullen.  “Would you walk me back to the tavern?”

“Of course,” he replied smoothly. “Goodnight,” he added to the others.  Varric watched them with a faint smirk, shaking his head.  The other two said their goodnights and Cullen led Hawke outside into the brisk, late night air.

They made it to her second-floor room without fuss.  “You know, we have rooms in the holding,” Cullen said softly as they arrived at the small, cramped room.  “They’re better equipped than this.  I could secure one for you-”

Hawke quietly shut the door and came to stand in front of him, slowly pulling her tunic up and over her head.  “It’s a little warmer here than your room,” she began softly, untying her breeches and pushing them down her legs.  “I thought you might want to see what it’s like to fall asleep not shivering.”

Cullen stepped toward her, mouth lowering to her breasts without pretense, his tongue curling around her nipple, the other gently squeezed by his free hand.  The other was wrapped around her back, pulling her into him.  “I like it longer,” she whispered as her fingers smoothed through his hair. “More to hold onto.”  He groaned against her words, switching his mouth to the other breast.

She pushed him back after a few moments, smiling.  “I’ll get the candles; you get undressed.”

“Leave them,” he returned, pulling his tunic and breeches off faster than he even knew possible.  He kicked his boots into the corner with hers.  “I want to see you.”

Her eyes flitted to the window.  “Anyone can-”  He knelt in front of her and slid her smallclothes off, pressing his face into the apex of her legs.  Her words died on her lips, a soft cry replacing them.

He wanted to stay there for hours, face caressed by her silky folds, his tongue bathed in her taste.  He wanted to keep hearing her breath quicken, feel her fingers twisting through his hair, pulling him into her.  But she began shuddering too quickly, her breathy whimpers becoming soft moans.  She came with a faint cry, her body quaking.  He had to secure her to him by her hips to keep her from spilling to the floor on her shaky knees.

As she came down, he carefully moved her to the window settee, laying her down on the cushioned bench and sliding between her legs. He leaned over her, mouth descending on hers.  Her tongue slipped between his lips and she groaned softly, tasting herself on him.  When she pulled back, she whispered, “Anyone can see us.”

“Let them,” he returned, mouth sliding across her jaw to her throat.

‘I thought you were embarrassed by me,” she returned, breath hitching as he nipped the thin skin above her pulsing jugular.

He pulled back quickly, meeting her gaze with his.  “Are you serious?” he asked softly. She blinked at him and he was left more unsure than before.  “You cannot be serious.  Why would you...?  I-”

She pulled him down into her, her lips finding his as a hand slithered between their bodies.  Her fingers smoothed over his cock, flaming it back into life. She guided him into her and let out a soft mewl of pleasure as he slid into her, arms under her shoulders and hands cradling her head.  They moved in perfect unison, almost as if their bodies had never forgotten how they fit together.

“I… missed you,” she admitted softly as his head fell onto her chest, his breath fanning across her sternum.  “I hated myself for missing you.  I felt as if I might die when I arrived and Varric finally told me... told me you were here, too.”  

He kissed her, lips lingering above hers.  “I missed you.  Every day that went by, I thought of you.  I could never be embarrassed to be seen with you.  I hope you realize that.”

Hawke chuckled softly, fingers gliding through his hair as her pelvis pressed against his, her breath on his mouth.  “A girl might begin to think you love her if you keep going on this way.”

Cullen hesitated for a moment, his hips stilling.  He pulled back to meet her even gaze, her gentle smile.  He let out a soft laugh and pressed his forehead to hers.  “I might.”

She kissed him, her arms wrapping around his neck.  He began to move on top of her again, relishing the feel of her around him, of her cold fingers on his back and her warm heart beneath him.  Her panting was gentle in his ear and made him realize something - she was always quiet in her relations.  Her joy never spilled off of her tongue as loudly as Cullen anticipated.  She was a vocal woman in every other way.  Why would this be different?

“I want to hear you,” he murmured against her, his thrusts speeding up.

“What?” she asked, looking confused.

“You hold back,” he replied, dipping down to lick across her collarbone.  She hissed softly and he murmured, “I want to hear you.”

She chuckled breathlessly.  “I…  I have never actually known how to… not be silent.”

Cullen pulled out of her and turned her over, the purple dragon on her back glinting in the light.  He thrust into her, harder than he probably should have, and she yelped.  Her hips slid back into his, his fingers on her ass dimpling the skin.  Her moaning became louder with each pass he made against her, inside of her.

“Harder,” she whispered.

“What?” he chuckled past his labored breathing.  “I can’t seem to hear you.”

“Harder,” she ordered, something dark in her voice.  He pressed one hand onto her back, forcing her into a steeper angle, and slammed himself into her.  He could feel sweat beading across his forehead and slide down his spine.  Her dragon was beginning to glimmer with a sheen of sweat, too, as if speckled in dew.

“Cullen,” she whined nails digging into the settee cushion.  When he didn’t respond, her voice raised.  “Cullen!”

“Marian,” he returned.  His name in her mouth, his name said so reverently… it made him shudder deep in the base of his spine.

“Cullen, I-” but she broke off, a long, sharp cry slipping from her mouth.  He slammed into her harder, almost too hard, her cry replaced by a loud moan that felt thick enough to make his core burst.

He came in a rush, not even bothering to attempt to pull himself out of her.  She, for some reason, never seemed too concerned with the prospect of motherhood.  The thought of it made his relaxing muscles bunch all over again.

A child.  

He had always wanted children, of course, in some hidden part of himself.  He had wanted to retire, have a quiet life, spend his time with a woman he loved and the children they adored.  But with everything that was happening, _had_ happened…. It was no time or place for children.

He pulled himself out of her and slumped onto the floor, covering his face with an arm.  What would happen if there was a child?  Would Hawke stop her endless adventures?  Would Cullen still be with the Inquisition?  Would they all be dead before the child could take its first unassisted breath?

He felt something on his arm.  He moved the appendage and opened his eyes to see Hawke leaning over him, her hand sliding from his arm to his chest.  “Everything all right?”

“Do you want children?” he asked finally.

She chuckled and stood, stepping over his prone figure to stand on the other side of him.  “You never asked what this scar was from,” she began, running a hand over a mound of scar tissue low on her abdomen.

He had honestly assumed it was from the fight with Meredith, just as the scars over her ribs were.  “What is it from?” he finally asked, sitting up to watch her as her fingers ran over it.

“A templar who was working with blood mages,” she answered finally.  “They abducted Bethany; they were holding her to ensure I didn’t stand against them.”

“It did not work out for them, from what I remember of the story.”

“It did not. But I got this as a souvenir,” she responded softly.  “It took both Bethany and Anders to patch it up.  It went deep - could have disemboweled me, Anders was quite determined to remind me each time I touched the scar, each time the phantom pain rolled over me.  But it went deep. It destroyed some delicate pieces of me, pieces they couldn’t repair or replace.”

Cullen’s eyes widened as understanding flooded over him.  “You cannot….”

She nodded, looking suddenly embarrassed.  “If you’re looking for a fertile wife, Knight-Commander, you will need to keep looking.”

Cullen stood and pulled her toward the bed, wrapping himself around her and the comforter around them both.  They didn’t speak; they only held one another until they drifted into their own uneasy sleep.

 

* * *

 

**Marian Hawke**

News of the couple’s tryst had spread around Skyhold faster than most diseases.  According to the rumors, numerous returning scouts had happened across their display in the window, lit by candles and made audible by an opened side window.  Hawke walked through the Hold with her head held high, but she couldn’t entirely shake the looks of surprise as she did.

No doubt most were confused about Cullen’s sudden interest in anything aside from work.  Suspicions and rumors about their past together arose - some knew that they had been familiar with one another in Kirkwall.  Others thought they might have grown up together in Ferelden.  

She tried not to pay it any attention as she joined Varric at his table for a late, fat- and protein-laden breakfast.

“I heard you had a good night, Waffles,” Varric teased immediately, buttering a piece of bread before slapping a thick slab of ham onto it.

“Not you, too,” she groaned, picking through the plate Varric had assembled for her, finding a piece of crumbly cheese to place on her makeshift sandwich.  Hawke knew she was in for more than the teasing greeting - it was never a good thing when Varric resorted to her pet name.

“Gotta say, I’m a little jealous.  I don’t think I ever heard noises coming from your throat like I did last night.”

Hawke blanched.  “You were there?”

“Downstairs,” he confirmed.  “Tiny and I decided to grab a few stronger drinks and arrived in time to hear some _breathtaking_ vocals.”

Hawke groaned, taking a bite of her breakfast.  “I am four ales too hungover for this.”

“I just wanted to express my happiness that you’re happy.  It’s been too long since you’ve seemed this relaxed.”

“How would you know? We haven’t seen one another in over a year.  Perhaps I have a perfect family living in Ostwick that soothes and relieves my weary soul.”

“I would have guessed Orlais.”

“Why does everyone -- you know, it doesn’t matter. Orlais is not my dream destination, no matter how you all wish it so.”

“Even so, I’m happy for you.  A romantic person could almost think you’re in love.”

Hawke shrugged, taking another bite of her food.  “Who knows,” she finally said flippantly.  “Perhaps I am. Perhaps I always have been.”

Varric snorted and shook his head.  “As I said, I’m almost jealous.”

“Don’t lie, Varric. You know you’re secretly pleased that you don’t have to explain me away to Bianca anymore.”  At Varric’s soft chuckle she added, “How is she - the real one?  Still with that… what was he, a nug humper?”

Varric’s laugh boomed off of the walls and startled a few of the nobles eating in the opposite corner of the room.  “A Smith by trade, nug humper by choice.  She supposedly likes him, though.  Not sure, haven’t heard from her in… well, a long time.  Before that clusterfuck in Kirkwall.”

“Maybe you should reach out?” she suggested.  

“Nah, the lack of assassination attempts by her family has been helpful.  Besides, a brooding author works best when he has things to brood about.  Speaking of, I’m thinking of another romance serial.  The working title is currently, _The Hawk and the Sword: The Most Unlikely Courtship in Thedas._ What do you say?  You and Curly approve?  Care to give some insight into what happens behind closed, poorly sound-proofed doors?”

Hawke snorted. “Get a better title and we’ll talk.”


	3. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
>  **Chapter Notes: Smut.** Also, we have Here Lies the Abyss in this chapter. Prepare yourselves for some feels! Edited: 8/2017
> 
> Chapter's title song is ["Paper Boats," by Darren Korb ft. Ashley Barrett.](https://open.spotify.com/track/32LhtWKqKzywc4CtwAo24Z) You'll know this song if you're a fan of the video game Transistor. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

* * *

**9:41 Dragon**

**Cullen Rutherford**

The coming fortnights were difficult.  Cullen found himself looking out over the mountain range each evening, hoping beyond all hope that it might be the night that Hawke and Lavellan’s team would return.  

Cullen and Hawke had only seen each other once in the prior month.  The party had returned a week after they’d left for Crestwood, each of them looking tired and road-weary.  Hawke had been exhausted as Cullen led her into a Hold room he’d managed to secure for her.  Her room. Her place in their Inquisition.

She had been asleep as soon as her head had met the pillow.  Cullen had wrapped himself around her and fallen asleep to the spiced scent of her skin and the stale sweat of her hair.

She had been gone the next day after a bath - which they had shared, spending more time making love than cleaning themselves - and a quick lunch.  He had walked her to her horse and, not caring that the others were there and watching, took her into his arms and kissed her.  “Come back,” he whispered.

“Always,” she’d replied, her lips meeting his again.

So Cullen waited and watched for them, his only solace being that a raven had not arrived heralding death.

They had received word well into the month that the party was returning and that they would need a course of action to deal with the Venatori, Grey Wardens, and demons at Adamant Fortress. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana had spent most of the following week plotting out the best paths for their foot soldiers and determining proper requisitions.

“We will need to have potions made,” Leliana hummed, glancing over their plans. “Most of the mages have some form of restorative magics, but our soldiers will need access to healing draughts if necessary.”

“Four per men?” Cullen asked.

“Hmm. Six, I would suggest.”

“Six,” Josephine sighed, making a note. “The herb garden is coming along, but there is not nearly enough elfroot there to maintain that many potions. I will have to reach out to vendors for this kind of volume.”

“Lady Lavellan mentioned a trader in the Hinterlands; perhaps we might strike a bargain with him? Offer him trading rights here in the Hold?”

“It is worth an attempt,” Cullen agreed, “but I daresay he would rather stay where his items are plentiful.  Unless he has a supply chain, I doubt he would be willing to come here to the cold and empty mountains.”

Josephine hummed over that for a moment before perking up.  “What of the abandoned fort in the Hinterlands?”

Leliana didn’t even hesitate. “Grand Forest Villa?  It is still empty.”

“Exactly,” Josephine said excitedly.  “Let us make it a base for your agents’ operations in the Hinterlands.  The merchant can set up there.  Your scouts, especially, will benefit from his proximity.”

Leliana hummed for a moment before nodding.  “It is worth looking into.  My scouts are already using it as a base, so if he is willing, he can move in immediately.”

Josephine scribbled on her parchment quickly before turning her attention back to Cullen.  “How are the shoes coming along?”

“Well,” Cullen sighed.  “Not fast enough for all of our troops to get the new pairs, but we should be able to supply most of them.  Harritt is working as quickly as he can, but armor takes precedence, and there is little he can do with a deadline like we're presented with.”

“It will have to do,” Josephine murmured, scribbling.  “And the mages?  I know the Inquisitor protests us giving them lyrium to supplement their casting, but-”

“No lyrium,” Cullen said, sharper than he meant to.  “The Inquisitor is right.  The cost of giving them that poison can harm us more than help us.  I do not wish to involve lyrium in our work here.”

Leliana observed him carefully while Josephine sighed, crossing something off of her list.  “I think we have discussed everything we can for the moment,” Leliana murmured gently.  “Perhaps we take the evening to see to our tasks and reconvene tomorrow morning?”

“Of course,” Josephine said, forcing some cheer back into her voice.  “I have some ravens to send out, Leliana.  I will be up to the rookery within a few hours.”

The trio had just made it into Josephine’s receiving room when a scout came in, looking surprised to see all of them in one place.  “Apologies for interrupting,” she began quickly, “I was told to give you word that the Inquisitor has returned.”

Cullen left the room without hesitation.  He knew he looked half mad, jogging through the courtyard and down toward the stables.  Even so, his heart was hammering in his chest, and the last thing he cared about was seeming foolish.

Hawke was looking well and spirited, her smile wide and teeth glinting in the sunlight.  She was brushing down her horse, patting its flank as she worked. She seemed to be in a deep conversation with Solas, which was something Cullen hadn’t expected to see.

“-hard not to succumb to demons for most humans, especially in the Fade,” Solas was saying.  “I am more surprised that your mage friend did not turn on you.”

“Oh, don’t be too surprised,” Hawke chuckled ruefully, leaning down to brush the mare’s leg.  “There was a most unkind betrayal from him later.”

Solas looked as though he wanted to ask more but noticed Cullen and cleared his throat.  “I believe someone wishes to speak with you.”

Hawke stood, tossing her side-swept bangs out of the way.  When she saw Cullen her smile widened, and she dropped the brush, swaying her hips as she strode up to him.  “Well, well.”

Cullen didn’t let her finish her usual greeting.  He swept her into his arms, covering her mouth with his.  She chuckled against his lips, her arms snaking around his neck, body melting against his.  “I’ve missed you,” she murmured when their mouths finally separated.

Cullen tried to keep the cliched response down, but it didn’t work.  “No more than I missed you.”

Hawke pulled back from him, grinning.  “Well, I need to get this girl brushed down and put her away.  Want to have dinner later?”

“There will be a small feast tonight,” Solas informed her.  He had taken up her discarded brush and was running it over the mare gently  “Whenever we return and plan to stay for a bit, we have a group dinner.  It can get… boisterous.  But you are both welcome to it, of course.”

Hawke beamed.  “Thank you.  I think we will.”

Cullen had hoped to keep Hawke all to himself for the evening, but he let the annoyance seep out of him in the way of a deep sigh.  

“Go, get cleaned up.  I will finish here,” Solas said, patting the horse’s neck affectionately.

“Thank you, Solas, I owe you,” Hawke said and sounded as if she meant it. She allowed Cullen to steer her toward the Hold, murmuring, “He’s much nicer than he seemed at first.”

“I’m not so sure,” Cullen muttered vaguely.  “When did he begin speaking with you?”

Hawke thought about it for a moment.  “I’m not sure.  A few nights ago?  Ellana and I were talking about the Dalish in Kirkwall.”

Cullen thought about her words, trying to puzzle out why such a topic would be interesting to Solas.  From all Cullen had observed, Solas seemed to have no real interest in the Dalish.  Perhaps even a slight disdain for them.

“I guess it was when I mentioned the pendant.  The one that the dragon woman entrusted me with.”

Cullen wasn’t sure what that meant, either, but something about it seemed off  “Did he say anything further?”

“No, I don’t think so… why?  Is there some reason that might be of interest to him?”

“I am not sure,” Cullen admitted.  “I am not sure of anything when that mage is involved.”

 

* * *

 

Hawke had a bath drawn up in her room.  Cullen tried his best to keep his hands to himself as servants came in and out of the chamber, filling the large, wooden basin with boiling and freezing water.  Hawke, of course, was doing her part to make it difficult for him.  She had removed her clothing, standing at the window wearing only an unbound, short dressing robe. The light streamed through, caressing over her pale skin.  She glowed like some ethereal thing as she swayed, seeming to dance to a song Cullen could not hear.

When the final servant deposited the last bucket of hot water, she asked gently, “Was there anything else, ma’am?”

Hawke had turned to respond, but Cullen interjected, “That is all.  Thank you,” and ushered the girl out the door.  He shut it and turned back to Hawke.  He watched her smirk, sliding out of her robe as he began to remove his cloak and armor. His outer and under clothes joined the pile, his boots being tossed unceremoniously in the corner beside the bed.

“Commander, you look as though you’re planning on devouring me,” she teased, stepping toward him slowly, hips swaying.  

“I have thought of nothing else in your absence,” he replied honestly.

She came to a stop in front of him, a hand caressing over his cock, bringing it to life, the other looping around his neck. “How about you slip into that tub so I can make sure you’re clean?  I know how you boys rush along,” she whispered, voice dipping into a sultry purr.  “I take my time… and I am quite thorough.”

Cullen growled, unable to keep up the pretense of being a gentleman any longer.  He lifted her into his arms and stepped into the tub, lowering them both into the steaming water.  Hawke was quick to slide herself on top of his engorged shaft, moaning delightedly as he filled her passage.  She tilted her head back and began to move on top of him slowly.  Cullen took her moment of bliss to admire the curve of her slender neck, the deep divot of her collarbone, the way her breasts moved with each dip and rise of her perfect body.  He ran his hands over her back, wrapping her in his arms, pulling her into him until each possible stretch of their skin touched.

Hawke had pressed her face into his neck, nipping gently, dragging the skin into her mouth and sucking.  Cullen nuzzled his face into her hair, breathing in the scent of campfires.  It reminded him of camping with his family at the lake not far from their ancestral home.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said suddenly.

Hawke didn’t stop moving, but her brow did furrow.  “Where?”

“The dock,” he whispered, his breath hitching as her motions sped up, became deeper.  “The dock from my childhood.”

Hawke leaned in, her lips covering his.  When she pulled back, she whispered, “We should go tomorrow.  We have a little over a week before we march on Adamant.”  He nodded, gritting his teeth against his mounting climax.  Hawke ruined his resolve with a single phrase.  “Cullen… I will go anywhere you are willing to take me.”

He came in a rush, gasping into her neck and holding her tightly against him.  Her wet hands slid through his hair, smoothing across the back of his neck and his shoulders.  As his breathing slowed he let out a soft chuckle.  “I… I am so sorry.”

She snorted, pulling back to look at him.  “I know most men get stupid after an orgasm, but I never took you for one of them.”

“I didn’t tend to you first,” he supplied.  

Hawke rolled her eyes and smirked. “There’s plenty of time for that later, Knight-Commander.  You plan on spending the night with me, yes?  And we are planning on a trip through Ferelden, alone, are we not?”

Cullen smiled and lifted her off of him.  “Sit,” he ordered gently, setting her on the lip of the tub and spreading her legs apart, sliding himself between them.  His mouth found her warm center, and he pressed himself into it, his tongue lavishing her with attention.  Hawke let out a sharp moan, her nails gripping into the wood of the tub.

Cullen wasn't sure how long he had been mindlessly devouring her, desire coursing through him with each moan that fell from her lips, with each press of her silky thighs against his face.  He wasn't sure how long Hawke's door had been open, or how long a maid watched them with wide eyes, either. In fact, Cullen was completely unaware of anything being amiss until Hawke froze, her thighs tightening around his neck as a startled yelp slipped out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” a voice shouted.  Cullen slowly pulled himself from between Hawke’s legs to find the serving girl from earlier in the doorway, ducking away with her eyes covered. “I’m so sorry; Lady Josephine thought you might like more hot water!”

“That’s fine, um… yes, fine,” Hawke replied, seeming more amused than anything.  “Thank you, that will be all for the night.”

The girl was gone, leaving the bucket of water by the door. They were alone again before Cullen could even think to formulate a word.  Hawke, on the other hand, was having an excellent time giggling at the situation.  “Well, the Keep is never short on gossip when you and I collide, is it?”

“I think it has very little to do with me,” Cullen informed her, sliding her legs back over his shoulders.  He licked across her thighs, kissing her sex and making her moan.  “The templars in the barracks had much to say on you. Gossip, mostly.  Gross exaggerations.  The guardsmen were abuzz, as well, but I am sure Aveline’s charges were tamer than mine.”

“Oh?” Hawke breathed, angling herself to give him better access.  “You didn’t feel my dignity needed protecting from those under your banner?  Or did you just enjoy hearing it?”

His tongue flicked out, caressing over her clitoris and making her jolt against his mouth.  “Some of it was… amusing,” he spoke between stroking her core with his tongue.  “Some of it was arousing.  Other stories made me… jealous.  Of your elven warrior.  Of your dwarven storyteller.”

Hawke’s breathing was becoming labored.  “Fenris?  He and I never -- ungh, _Maker,_ Cullen, right there.”

Cullen broke off to suck the sensitive nub into his mouth, tongue ruminating over the spot Hawke had requested.  She had begun shaking, one of her hands sliding into his hair and tightening, nails gently scraping across his scalp.  

“Are… are you still jealous?” she asked suddenly between pants.  

Cullen did not pull away to answer.  His tongue sped up, and one of his fingers rose to caress against her entrance making her shudder and whimper gently.  She began trembling in no time, and soon her thighs were squeezing against his head, and her pleasure was spilling from her mouth louder than he had ever heard it.

He took his time to lick her clean, drinking her in while she caught her breath.  When she finally did, she lowered herself back into the tub, shaking.  “I think we need to bathe if we plan on eating dinner and not one another.”

“I like the latter better,” Cullen murmured, making Hawke chuckle.  He reached down for the bar of soap the servants had supplied anyway and motioned for her to turn around.  She did, and he began gently rubbing the soap over her skin.  He finally murmured, “Do I have a reason to be jealous?”

Hawke turned her head, attempting to look at him.  “What do you mean?”

“About Varric.  You asked if I was still jealous.  I am only wondering if there is a need for me to be.”

Hawke turned around quickly to look at him, her face startlingly serious.  She took Cullen’s face in her hands and murmured, “No.  Not since you and I….”  She trailed off, swallowing, seeming to be looking for the right words.  “My last night in Kirkwall, I knew what I wanted. It wasn’t Varric.”

The words moved Cullen more than he knew they should have.  Even so, he pulled her into a kiss before caressing the soap over her shoulders and her chest.  He couldn’t find the words to express how much her answer meant to him, but it seemed he didn’t need to.

Like everything else, Hawke seemed to know already.

 

* * *

 

The dock seemed smaller than he remembered.  It had been 17 years since he had been there and things always seemed larger, scarier, more vast in the eyes of a child.

When he was there last, he had been 13.  It had been the night before he left for training, the night before his entire life changed.  The evening before one choice led to all of the heartbreak, terror, and wonder that had become his life.

And now he sat on the dock, feet in the water with Marian Hawke, one-time Champion of Kirkwall and savior to mages, tucked under his arm.  He kissed the top of her head, reassuring himself that she was truly there, that she was real.  Sometimes nothing about the little rogue seemed real at all.

“Tell me something about your childhood,” she murmured, her head falling to his chest.  The cicadas droned loudly behind them in the trees, frogs croaking from their waterlogged stumps and logs. But over it all, Hawke’s gentle hum broke through.

“What do you wish to know?” he asked softly.

“Anything.  Everything.”

He chuckled and kissed her hair again.  “I have three siblings. Two sisters and a brother.  Growing up with them was sometimes difficult.  They used to tease me when I said I would become a templar. Honnleath had very few templars, but they taught me some swordplay out of pity, I think.  As I got older and more resolute in my wishes, my older sister became my champion.  She would help me train as much as she could.  She even stole a few books from our Chantry for me to study from,” he chuckled, shaking his head.  “I returned them immediately, of course.  I wanted nothing more than to live an honest life, to help people, to never be ashamed of myself.”

Hawke turned slightly in his grip and put a hand on his chest.  “I would say you have succeeded.”

Cullen sighed, looking down at the water, at how it slithered around his legs as he kicked them out and dragged them back.  “I have been ashamed most of my life, Marian.  Ever since the Circle of Ferelden fell... there has been too much pain, too much suffering.  And what have I done to stop it?”

She punched his arm, and he let out a startled noise.  She stretched herself toward his face to cover his lips with hers before insisting, “Everything you have ever done was in the hope that you could protect people.  You are about to lead men and women in a fight against a demon army, Cullen.   _Maker,_ I don’t know many people more selfless than you.”

“There is the Inquisitor,” he said, unable to help the smile that stretched his face.

“Well, she’s an anomaly of goodness and wholesomeness, no one can compare to her.”

“There is you,” he continued softly.

She snorted, rolling her eyes.  “I destroyed most of Kirkwall - _twice_ \- and set into motion a chain of events leading to all of the Southern Circles falling.  If anything, I am a harbinger of destruction and chaos.”

Cullen pulled her into his lap, her legs on either side of him, and pushed her hair back from her eyes.  “And yet here you are, helping put the world back together.”

Hawke bit her lower lip to contain her smile.  “I think you’re trying to butter me up so we can add another good memory to this dock.”

He chuckled, running a hand through her feather-soft hair.  “I never asked… what became of Jakke?”

Hawke’s smile wilted, and she cleared her throat, looking down at their laps.  “He… he died. Poisoned. We were in Orlais for a time; I met an assassin who needed my help getting into Chateau Hein. The assassin who ended up training me, in fact, but that was later. Tallis and I had to fight a wyvern to gain access to the Chateau.  I left Jakke in the treeline so he wouldn’t get hurt, I knew he would get hurt if he were involved.  But the damned wyvern pinned me.  Tallis was coming, she would have saved me, but Jakke...” she broke off, clearing her throat again.  “I had an antidote for the poison, but I had given it to someone else’s dog earlier in the day.  I could have saved him if I’d just….”

Cullen wasn’t sure what to say for a moment.  He watched as her face attempted to mask itself, but the facade kept crumbling every time her shoulders began to tremble.  So he pulled her against him, kissing her forehead. “It is a fine way for a noble breed to go.  He protected his mistress; he danced with a ferocious beast a hundred times his size. He was a good hound, and he loved you - he would have had no regrets.”

She chuckled wetly.  “Perhaps, but… I wish he hadn’t been so stupid.  Sweetly stupid.”

Cullen pressed his lips to hers, moving them down to her jaw and then throat.  She let out a soft sigh, melting into him.  Her hands fumbled with his tunic, but he stopped her, murmuring, “I have something for you.”

Hawke looked torn between confusion and excitement, her sorrow fading with each moment of distraction.  “Oh?”

Cullen reached into the sewn pouch inside of his tunic and pulled out the silver coin he had been carrying for 17 years.  “My little brother gave this to me,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against hers.  “He said it was lucky and he wanted me to have it.  To keep me safe during templar training.  We weren’t supposed to keep personal items; we were meant to dedicate ourselves fully to our Maker.  Not family, not superstition.  Even so… I kept it.  I hid it.  And now I want you to have it.”

He pressed the coin into Hawke’s hand. She looked down at it and then up at him, her confusion giving way to a gentle smile.  “Cullen, I can’t accept this,” she murmured even as her fingers curled around it.

“We do not fully know what we will be facing at Adamant.  I want you to have it.  You will be in the thick of things and I… it would put my mind at ease if I knew you had it.”

Hawke bit her lower lip.  She looked as though she wanted to tell him that he would be in the thick of things, too - that he would be just as much at risk at Adamant as she would be.  But she didn’t.  She kissed him and slipped the coin into her sewn pocket, buttoning the pouch to keep it in place.  “I love it,” she whispered.

 

* * *

 

Hawke had been tossing in her sleep all night.  Cullen knew this because he hadn’t been able to fall asleep at all.  He laid on their bedrolls, watching her turn and grumble in her dreams, worried groans giving way to terror-filled yelps.  He had pulled her into him each time she shouted out and calmed her with his touch, but the effect never lasted.

He wanted to wake her, to ask what haunted her dreams, but he had already known.  They would arrive at Adamant in the following evening.  They would have to fight through hoards of demons and addled Grey Wardens.  They would have to face the real possibility of their deaths, the death of their Inquisitor, the death of all Thedas if they lost at Adamant.

The lyrium withdrawal had been easier during their trip through Ferelden, their journey to the dock on Lake Calenhad.  The night terrors had all but ceased, and the paranoia and fatigue had been minimal.  But tonight, watching her toss and turn, looking at the dragon on her back as it glided about with each twitch, he felt the paranoia surfacing.  He wondered if she would ever be able to forgive him if he collected her up on his horse and rode them as far away as possible.

What would the odds be, he mused, that they could both survive the coming day?

 

* * *

 

Hawke’s hands had begun to shake as the shadow of Adamant grew large in the distance.  She tried to hide it by clenching her fists around the reigns of her barded charger, but Cullen had noticed.  He reached out to put his hand over hers gently.

“It will be alright,” he said, sounding surer than he felt.

She smiled tensely.  They rode in silence, side by side, watching Lavellan’s armored mount weave between the lines of troops, shouting out affirmations.  It should have been Cullen’s job, but he was too nervous to rally the men.  And who better to rally them than the Inquisitor that led them? Lavellan had been pleased and honored to take the task from him.

“I have something for you,” Hawke said suddenly, startling Cullen from his thoughts.  “Not with me, back in our room at the Hold.”

 _Our room._  Cullen was surprised how much he enjoyed hearing that.  “What is it?”

She chuckled softly. “It’s not much of a surprise if I tell you.  It’s in the top drawer of the bureau in the corner.  Just in case….”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. _Just in case I don’t survive to show it to you._

They rode in silence, Cullen swallowing past the growing lump in his throat.  They did not speak until the forces stopped to tie off the horses far enough away to avoid damage.  The horses would be no good to them on the approach or the assault, and they were too valuable to risk.

Cullen took a moment to pull Hawke into his arms, breathing her in for possibly the last time.  When he pulled back, she had a faint blush of tears on her bottom eyelids.  He wiped them away gently, murmuring, “I love you.”

She closed her eyes, and her shoulders hitched.  She kept swallowing past her tears, trying desperately to contain herself.  “Don’t you know not to make a woman cry before a battle for her life, honor, and all of Thedas?” she finally choked out, laughing breathlessly.  Cullen pulled her into him harder, her face pressing against his armored shoulder.  “I love you, too,” she replied, voice thick.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” he begged her.  He knew they were possibly causing a scene.  He was aware that Lavellan was probably scowling at them.  But he didn’t care.  “Promise me,” he insisted.

She pulled back and cupped his face in her hands, her icy blue eyes boring into his.  “No matter what happens, Cullen,” she whispered.  “I will always come back to you.  I will always find you.”

The war horn blew, jolting them apart and bringing them back to reality.  As Cullen glanced around at those surround them, he found none of them were watching.  Lavellan, in fact, was distracted as well.  Her forehead pressed against Solas’, his arms wrapped around her slender shoulders.

It was a startling thing to remember this close to the battle.  Everyone here had people they cared about.  And if Cullen was to die in this fight, at least he had one last moment to hold Hawke, to speak to her, to breathe her in.

The horn blew again, and the troops began to move as one, the battering ram and trebuchets rolling ahead of them, leading the way toward the darkened fortress before them.

 

* * *

 

Time stood still.  Cullen watched as Lavellan’s sorrow-filled eyes met his.  He watched as Varric stormed away, off of the battlements as quickly as his legs would allow.  He watched as Stroud emerged from the Fade and Hawke did not.

“Where is she?”

He knew he asked it, but he couldn’t hear his voice over the din of Grey Wardens clamoring for Stroud’s attention, for Lavellan’s attention.  The Inquisitor did not look away from Cullen, though.  She stared right at him, forming the words he couldn’t hear but somehow knew.

_I am so sorry._

Cullen was shaking his head, watching the Inquisitor, rage filling him.  Anger was easier than fear. Fury was easier than admitting what was happening. _“Where is she?!”_ he shouted, causing everything else around them to silence.

“I… had to make a choice,” Lavellan said softly.  “She requested that I... she asked me to give you this.”

Lavellan pressed the silver coin into his hand, her fingers lingering on his. “Cullen, I am so sorry.  The Nightmare demon was too strong; we could not risk it coming through.  She… she asked to stay behind.”

Cullen tore his hand from her and walked away before he could lash out or do something he would regret.  He stormed away, following the path that Varric had traced before him.

He found Varric on his knees in the sand, looking up at the sky.  Cullen thought it would be best to leave the dwarf alone to his misery, but Varric called out, “She asked to stay behind.  She wanted to… I don’t know.  She wanted to prove she wasn’t just a ruiner.”

“She was never-”

“I know, Curly.  Don’t you think I know that?  She was…” he broke off to chuckle humorlessly.  “She was one of the best damn people I’ve ever known.  And now she’s… she’s dead or, worse yet, stuck in that nightmare shitfest of the Fade, fighting a massive fucking terror demon.”

Cullen sank into the sand beside Varric and looked up at the stars.  “I love her.”

Varric nodded.  “Me too, kid. She was… she was something special.”

“She is,” Cullen corrected softly.  They sat in silence for a moment before he murmured, “I am sorry, Varric.”

“Me too,” Varric sighed.  “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

**9:42 Dragon**

**Ellana Lavellan**

Ellana Lavellan walked through the garden, scanning the area for the arcane specialist, Morrigan.  The mountains were colder this close to the freeze, but the herb garden was still thriving.  Morrigan could usually be found among the herbs, coaxing them with gentle words, or near the gazebo, helping her son with his studies or reading one of her many grimoires.

She was in none of the usual places, however, and Lavellan hesitated in the middle of the garden.  She thought of asking Mother Giselle if she knew anything about Morrigan’s location, but then someone ran into her, shoving her to the ground.

“Maker!  Inquisitor, I am so sorry,” Leliana choked out, sounding more panicked than Lavellan had ever heard her.  The spymaster helped her to her feet before letting out a deep sigh. “I am sorry to do this, Inquisitor, but I believe Morrigan may need your assistance.”  Before Lavellan could ask anything, Leliana powered through in a dark undertone.  “The eluvian opened without reason while she and I spoke.  Her son ran into it and she, in a panic, followed.  I know nothing of what could be on the other-”

Lavellan tore away from her and toward the room that housed the eluvian, not caring for manners or decorum.  The Crossroads did not seem a dangerous place, not when she had been there, but the fear that some other eluvian might have opened, an eluvian that led to a much darker place….  Lavellan tried not to think about it before plunging through the liquid glass.

Instead of the Crossroads, Lavellan found herself in the dark, dank, dripping Fade.   

“Morrigan!” she called, terror prickling her heart.  The physical aspect of the Fade was something she had hoped never to experience again.  And yet, here she was.  She willed her feet to move, to carry her through the puddles of acrid smelling fluid.  Her slender boots slapped across the rocks, and she kept shouting, over and over, “Morrigan!  Kieran!”

Something was niggling at the base of her neck as she ran deeper into the labyrinth.  Something about it felt so familiar, more familiar than simply being in the Fade.  She couldn’t dwell on it, though, because she rounded a corner and plunged into a large, circular room with no exits… or entrances.  The one behind her had seemed to vanish.

Morrigan and Kieran stood on a dais in the middle of the room, a strangely dressed woman kneeling in front of Kieran.  She turned her attention toward Lavellan and smiled.  “Well, well. What have we here?”  The woman stood and walked to the edge of the dais, beckoning Lavellan.  “Well come on, girl, let me get a look at you.”

“Stay back!” Morrigan called, hugging Kieran sharply to her.  The look of terror on Morrigan’s face made Lavellan’s blood run cold.  “She is a witch; she will-”

“Oh, I will do many things, my sweet,” the woman chuckled.  “Come now, don’t keep us waiting.”  And then the woman made a sharp motion with her hand, and Lavellan’s legs were moving without her permission.

“What have you done to me?” she gasped as she ascended the dais to stand before the old woman with the amber eyes.

“It is more what you have done to yourself, my dear,” the woman murmured.  “You drank from the Well of Sorrows.”

“The Well of Sorrows is-” Morrigan began hotly before faltering, eyes widened.  “You… you cannot be.   _This_ cannot be!”

“Ah, and so my fumbling daughter finally understands,” the woman chuckled.  “I am Mythal as Mythal is Flemeth, my dear.  Do things make more sense now?”

“You cannot have Kieran,” Morrigan shouted, pulling her son back to her side, trying to shield him with her body.  “He is my son!  I will not allow you to-”

“You always were a very loud child,” the woman sighed.  “Lavellan, please be a dear and bring the boy to me.”

“Morrigan, I can’t-” she began as her hands reached for the boy.  Kieran came willingly, looking between the three of them with more understanding than made sense.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he rasped in his small voice.  “I have to.”

“No!  Kieran, no, you don’t have to-”

The woman - Flemeth, Mythal - lowered herself to her knees again and pulled Kieran close.  “Hold still,” she whispered.  “And then all of the dreams will be gone, sweet boy.”

“Mother, no!” Morrigan sobbed, reaching out for Kieran again.  Lavellan grabbed her arms, keeping her back, holding her while she thrashed.  “Kieran!”

A flash of light erupted around them, and Lavellan winced, blinking past the sudden spots in her vision.  When the light subsided, Kieran was rushing toward Morrigan, wrapping his arms around her.

“What happened?” Lavellan asked, releasing Morrigan.  The woman fell to her knees, wrapping her son up in her arms, sobbing into his hair.

Mythal watched her, eyes kind and amused.  “I never intended to hurt the boy.  Or you, Morrigan,” she added.  “I simply needed the spirit he carried within him.  His hauntings will cease, and you have your son. Unspoiled from my tampering.”  She looked at Lavellan.  “You have questions, but I have little time.  Ask what you must.”

“Am I bound to you?”

“You are bound to Mythal - whoever carries Mythal. Yes.”

Lavellan swallowed and looked around her.  The niggling in her skull was growing larger as she looked around, as she fully took in her surroundings.  And then she gasped, the realization of where she was hitting her like mortar to the chest.  “Is this… is this where...?”

“Where the Nightmare fought you?  Where you left the Champion of Kirkwall?” Mythal’s smile turned slightly sour.  “It is.”

“Where is she?  Is she… is she here?  I need to find her if she-”  Mythal held her hand up and Lavellan’s lips closed around her words.

“Listen to the voices, child.  The Well never lies.”

Lavellan closed her eyes.  The whispering was louder in the Fade, more energetic.  “She’s here,” Lavellan breathed.

“She fought long and hard against the terror and, eventually, slew it.  With some help,” Mythal added, the corner of her mouth twitching up as if she had delivered the punchline to a particularly amusing joke.  “She is still here, waiting.  She will come back to you when the time is right. Although, I would like to add that I was rather displeased that you decided to leave her here. I rather like the child.  Spirited.  She asked me if I could teach her to fly once,” she chuckled.  In a more somber tone, she murmured, “She lives.  You can tell your Commander that.  She speaks of him often.”

“You’ve spoken with her?” Lavellan breathed.  “Can I talk to her?”

“I believe our time is up,” Mythal murmured.  “Morrigan, I will never see you or Kieran again, much to my dismay.  You are both so beautiful.  And strong _._  Remember your strength.  And give my best to that Warden of yours.  He is close to a breakthrough.”

“How-” Morrigan began but shook her head, biting her tongue.  “Goodbye, Mother.”

Flemeth, Mythal, only smiled.  “Goodbye, child.”

 

* * *

 

**Cullen Rutherford**

Cullen sat in his office, staring at the book she left for him.  Left by Hawke, hidden away in a bureau in her room.  The room he could no longer go into.  

The first months had been difficult - he had wanted nothing more than to plunge lyrium into his veins, to get that heady feeling that sharpened everything, made everything make sense.  He had looked longingly at his lyrium kit every sleep-deprived night, every night that her body wasn’t beside him.

But three months had now passed, and he still had not succumbed.  But each night was harder and harder.  Every passing day left him feeling more useless, more dead inside. He planned to drown himself in the feeling until he either died or gave into the lyrium - whichever his broken body succumbed to first.

While he stared morosely at the book, the journal that was full of Hawke's life without him, his door was thrown open without ceremony, and Lavellan stood in the doorway, eyes wide, hair wild.  

“What is it? Corypheus?” Cullen asked, getting to his feet and reaching for his sword.

“No, Cullen, no,” she whispered quickly, running toward him and throwing her arms around him.  Cullen let out a startled noise, unsure what was happening, and then she murmured, “She’s _alive,_ Cullen.  She’s in the Fade, and she’s going to come back.”

Cullen wasn’t sure he was hearing her right - in fact, he was sure his brain was making all of it up.  But when the words sunk in, when everything made sense, Cullen’s legs gave out beneath him.  He crumpled to the floor, his knees just barely keeping him upright, Lavellan clinging to him still.

“She’s alive, Cullen.  She’s safe.  She’s… she’s going to come back to you.  I swear it.”

When Cullen was able to speak past the lump in this throat, he demanded, “Tell me everything.”

 

* * *

 

**Marian Hawke's Journal**

**Entry 1**

_Cullen,_

_When we were children, our mother said that writing letters and keeping journals were two of the only ways to know your true self. “When you write to someone else, a friend, a loved one, or simply a journal, you write how you wish to be perceived in the deepest, truest part of yourself.”_

_So here I am, writing to you, the journal, and to you, Cullen._

_I know you will never read these.  I know our paths will never cross again.  But I had so much to tell you - so many questions to ask and to answer.  Truths that I want - wanted? want? - only you to hear._

_But where do I begin?  I am either too tired or too distracted to come up with either questions or answers right now.  Maybe later I will have more luck.  Or maybe later I will give up on this venture entirely._

_I am currently sitting in a cramped vessel’s hold, shoved between an old man with a terrible cough and a child who has asked me to tell him stories for three of the past five hours._

_Have I ever told you that I love children?  Probably not.  When would it have ever come up in conversation?  While fighting over what was right for the mages? While battling side-by-side against Meredith?_

_While rolling around on my bed?_

_Or, your bed now, I suppose.  If you stay in Kirkwall.  If you decide to become the Knight-Commander I always thought of you as._

_This is terribly stupid, but you’ll never see it, so… what is the harm?_

_I miss you already._

 

* * *

 

**Entry 2**

_Cullen,_

_The Waking Sea is named such, I think, because it is impossible to sleep while on it.  After a grueling two weeks aboard the vessel, I have finally set foot on dry - damp, actually - land.  It feels strange to arrive on the homeland after so long away.  Not that I would call any part of the Storm Coast my home._

_Even so.  The wind feels different here than in Kirkwall.  Standing on the rocks on the Wounded Coast is nothing like standing on the rocks on the Storm Coast.  Things are more volatile here - more dangerous.  And lonely.  Very lonely._

_I am sitting here, on this lonely stretch of beach, and writing to you.  The page is getting flecked with sea spray, and my quill is ready to fly away in the wind.  But I wanted to write to you here and now, to get all of this down while it is fresh._

_The ocean is reminding me that I am so far away from all that I have grown accustomed to, all that I have known for years.  And I am away from you._

_Look at me.  One night of passion has turned me into a sopping mess._

_Not that my feelings started that night._

_One night, long before our night, Varric, Isabela, Fenris and I went down to the Wounded Coast with as much wine as we could carry and a few ratty blankets. This was just a bit after the Deep Roads expedition - I was still reeling from losing Bethany._

_We sat on the shore and drank and, for some reason, I mentioned you. I said that Bethany had once joked that if you were the one to take her to the Gallows, at least she would have something pretty to look at._

_You know Isabela. She made things crass. She said you and Bethany would make beautiful children - in less savory terms. I have to admit; I was jealous. But then I thought… Bethany may be the fairer sister, but she and I share the same parents. Surely you and I would make beautiful children - or, at the very least, we would have a hell of a lot of fun in the process._

_I said it aloud, because of course, I did. Isabela teased me, and Fenris rolled his eyes and hogged a wine bottle. Varric told me that if I wanted you, there was no reason not to try. “Just… try to be normal,” he'd said. “The boy doesn't seem to know what to do with a woman, and you don't want to spook him.”_

_But you did know what to do with a woman. Or, at least, you knew what to do with me._

_Anyway, I wanted to sketch that night on the Wounded Coast, but I have no artistic ability. So here it is. My sad attempt at art._

_I suppose this is all I can write at the moment.  My inkwell tipped over, and I am forced to end this here. I guess I shouldn't have wasted so much time sketching silly things._

* * *

_**Entry 5** _

_Cullen,_

_I am not supposed to tell anyone where I am, but since you are a journal and no one will see you except for me - or the sad, sorry bandit that finally kills me - then I suppose it doesn’t matter much._

_I arrived in South Reach a week ago today.  I’ve spent most of my time at the tavern, sleeping and drinking more than advisable.  The whiskey here is marginally better, but their food is about what one could expect from the Hanged Man._

_Maker, I miss that place._

_Anyway.  I am in South Reach which, I have learned very recently, contains your kin.  I finally went to the market yesterday, feeling jaundiced from all of the dehydrated and bread based meals.  I was perusing vegetables when a young woman bumped into me.  I picked up her fruits for her and she began speaking to me.  I wasn’t sure why, exactly.  People have always seemed to think I have a face that begs for gossip.  And perhaps I do - I love a juicy story, after all._

_She asked me when I arrived into town and where I was from.  I know I am not supposed to tell anyone anything about myself, but… for some reason, I was compelled to tell her.  “I arrived last week from Kirkwall.”_

_“Kirkwall!” she exclaimed.  “My word - did you live there long?  Did you know many people?  My brother is in Kirkwall!”  When I told her that I had lived there for a time and that I knew my fair share of people, she was overjoyed.  “I doubt you know him; he is a true templar, married to the job.  His name is Cullen.  Cullen Rutherford.”_

_Cullen, I nearly wept.  I nearly swept that sweet woman into my arms and told her everything.  I do know your brother, I know him quite well.  I know the way his hesitant smile in public can give way to the most breathtaking one in private.  I know how he rubs the back of his neck when he is anxious or embarrassed.  I know how he smells after a long day in the Gallows and how he feels after sex, slick and warm, impossibly warm.  I know each curve and line on his face.  I know his gentle eyes and how they can look right into your very soul._

_But I only smiled and murmured, “I do know Cullen.  Did know Cullen.  He was well when I saw him last, two months ago.  He was healthy and considering taking the position of Knight-Commander.”_

_She invited me to her home for dinner.  She told me I was looking unwell, too thin and too yellow.  But I declined the invitation because I couldn’t stand the thought of more questions.  More questions about you.  Potential questions about us._

_Was there an us?  It felt like there was… for me, anyway._

_I wanted to ask you before I left, but there was no time.  It would have been cruel to ask - you were under no obligation to like me, admire me, love me.  We would never see one another again.  Why put you through that?_

_And why am I putting myself through this?  Writing to you without writing to you.  Maybe someday I will send this to you.  I suppose I would need a huge raven if I happen to finish the whole book._

_I guess I would have to know where you were to do so.  Which… well, you know.  None of that matters now._

* * *

_**Entry 192** _

_Cullen,_

_I never really told you about the dragon who saved me. I said that she was a woman and a Witch of the Wilds, if I recall correctly. But I don’t think I ever told you something she said before she whisked us to safety._

_She said not to hesitate when staring into the Abyss.  She said that, if I didn’t jump, I would never learn if I could fly._

_I’ve been dreaming about that recently.  An abyss, a long drop into nothingness._

_The falling never scares me until I try to fly and find that I cannot._

_I always awake before I hit bottom - if there is a bottom.  I don’t know what it means.  I'm not sure if it has to mean anything.  Perhaps it was simply something a crazy woman who could turn into a dragon said to worry me._

_It worked._

* * *

_**Entry 315** _

_Cullen,_

_Did you know that some dwarves think that lyrium is alive?_

_Well.  Some do._

_I am in Orzammar at the moment.  I have toured the Hall of Heroes, which was quite impressive and rather breathtaking. They have a Chantry here, too - it is gorgeous but the door was rather small.  I went inside to get away from people, but it turned out that a lot of dwarves are beginning to convert.  The place was full but quiet so I sat for a time, just thinking._

_The Hero of Ferelden did this.  He helped this Chantry take off - after I met him in Lothering and probably after you met him in the Circle._

_What I wouldn’t give to have a legacy like that.  To have nothing but good things, daring things, for others to remember me by.  I always wanted to be a good person - the type who builds things up not breaks them down._

_All of Kirkwall knows how that turned out._

_I sound more morose than I am, I promise.  I am anxious, though.  I am currently waiting for the leaders to finish deliberating in the Chamber of Assembly._

_What are they deliberating, you might ask (were you a real person and not a leather-bound confession of my mounting insanity), and why does it involve me?  Well, my darling, I am here requesting to be allowed into the Shaperate.  The place of all dwarven knowledge.  The place where all history has been painstakingly recorded._

_I am hoping they allow me in.  And then I am hoping that they have the information we need.  Perhaps if I can solve this red lyrium puzzle, or at least begin to understand it, then maybe Varric can save me from this soul-crushing loneliness and isolation.  Bring me back to Kirkwall, perhaps.  Or South Reach.  Perhaps if I am there, maybe if I befriend Mia, you might hear about me and want to see me._

_Three years and I am still somehow in love with you.  I’m not sure what your cock is made of, but it must be some sort of magic._

_Good thing I didn’t write that down while in the Chantry.  I am pretty sure that might be sacrilegious.  Poor Andraste would have wept._

* * *

_**Entry 316** _

_Cullen,_

_It has been a while since I wrote.  About three weeks.  Orzammar was a failure. It was decided that I was a no one, that I had no claim and no purpose to see the knowledge of the Shaperate._

_I did learn, however, that some dwarves say that the lyrium sings to them - the healthy, normal, blue lyrium.  None of them seem to know anything about red lyrium - laughed at me when I told them it existed.  I suppose I sounded like some addled human who fell into the sky one too many times._

_Even so, their story of singing lyrium reminded me of the idol Bartrand was haunted by, and the sword that ruined Meredith.  They had both mentioned needing to hear the song again, hadn’t they?  Does the red lyrium sing, as well?  And if it does, how different must the songs be?_

_Being above ground again is nice.  I took the scenic route down from the Frostbacks toward Lake Calenhad. I found a fisherman in The Spoiled Princess who was willing to ferry me across to the empty halls of the Ferelden Circle._

_As I walked through the corridors, I could only hear your voice telling me about the horrors you saw here - the horrors you wanted nothing more than to forget.  I am not sure if it would please you to know that there are no bodies here now.  I assume the Circle either fell peacefully or those who died were seen to in an orderly fashion._

_I worried there might be some lingering people in the Circle, but I am alone.  It is unnerving, pouring through what few books remain, sitting at long tables covered in the dust of at least a year's disuse.  It is strange to be in a place I know was once bustling with life.  To be sitting at a table Alyndra might have sat at - to be leaning against a bookshelf that you might have leaned against._

_I went to the top of the tower at sunset and shouted as loudly as I could.  Sometimes I forget what my voice sounds like.  Sometimes I forget I even have a voice._

_I miss talking to people.  Really talking.  I miss how Varric could spin anything I said, even the most mundane thing, into a story of intrigue and romance.  I miss how I would try to lure you into conversations and you would roll your eyes and rub the back of your neck, unsure whether to give in or keep the facade up. I miss Isabela’s laughter, the way she would practically vibrate when excited about the latest gossip. I miss drinking and waxing poetic with Fenris late into the night.  I miss Bethany’s laugh.  It was like a crystal bell chiming.  It made you feel special, like you were the only person in the world who mattered._

_I miss a lot of things I took for granted before.  But I suppose we all have regrets.  Things we wish we could change.  Things we wish we had said differently._

_I wish I had told Varric he was special, the best friend anyone could ever ask for.  I wish I had told Isabela how beautiful she was, inside and out, and how I hoped she would try to put more faith in herself and others.  I wish I had told Fenris that he didn’t need to keep running, that he didn’t need to keep one eye on the door - that his friends had his back and that his friends loved him.  I wish I’d told Bethany that I cried every night after she left with the Wardens.  That I still cry when I think I might never see her again._

_And I wish I had told you that I loved you._

* * *

_**Entry 418** _

_Cullen,_

_You’re finally asleep.  I know the withdrawal is hard for you and I wish above everything else that I could take that pain from you.  But I cannot.  So I lie awake until you quiet, until your demons let you go for a time, and I watch you._

_We ride for Adamant Fortress tomorrow.  I can tell you are anxious and worried. I am, too.  But sometimes I look back over the previous pages of this journal and I marvel at how far I have come.  I am here with you - you you, not just you the journal - and I know you care for me._

_This is what makes the coming weeks difficult.  The travel to the Western Approach.  The assault on Adamant Keep.  The demon army we will face.  I know you care for me and that makes me weak.  It makes it hard for me to stay focused on what I must do._

_In the same way that it makes me weak, it makes you weak, too.  I hate knowing that I am doing this to you.  That I am distracting you from more important matters.  More important things and places and people._

_But in the same moment, I know that loving you has made me strong.  If you ever read this, then you will know what I mean.  Loving you, thinking of you, writing to you, has kept my voice intact.  It has reminded me who I am - who I am deep down inside of me.  You gave me strength through it all._

_If something happens at Adamant - if I fall and you live on - please know that nothing we have done was in vain.  I love you and I regret absolutely nothing.  I would have changed nothing at all, just for the chance to have what we have had over the past months._

_Now we both need to push all of this fear, all of this nonsense, aside and funnel it into something productive.  Like kicking some demon, darkspawn, and Corypheus ass._

_One more time, before I forget - I love you, Cullen.  With all of my heart._

_Yours always,_

_Marian_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I will always find you," said by Hawke before the battle at Adamant, was thanks to the title song, "Paper Boats." See the notes at the beginning of the chapter for a link to that song.
> 
> Also - the "sketch" is thanks to a painting I did forever ago, rendered by an app to look somewhat sketchy.


	4. Dark Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
> 
>  **Chapter Notes: Smut.** LAST CHAPTER! Events of the Trespasser DLC are included in this section, too, but a lot of liberties have been taken to set this up for a follow-up story. Edited: 8/2017
> 
> The song inspiration for this chapter is ["Dark Four Door," by Bill Raffoul.](https://open.spotify.com/track/6rJoshfNufhpP4mgVujtOf)
> 
> Please enjoy!

* * *

  

**9:44 Dragon**

**Cullen Rutherford**

Cullen awoke with a start.  He wasn’t sure what pulled him from his hazy dreams, so he laid still for a moment, mind sharpening, eyes taking in his surroundings.  He was alone in his room at the Winter Palace - the large glass doors to the balcony were still open, the gossamer curtains billowing in the morning breeze. The sound of chatter and laughter from the courtyard outside buzzed pleasantly.

A knock startled him out of his thoughts, out of his mental checklist, and he chuckled to himself softly.  “Yes?” he called, sitting up in the bed.  The blankets pooled around his waist, keeping him decent from whatever maid was checking in on him.

The door creaked open slowly and, to his surprise, it was not a servant.  It was Leliana, already dressed in her formal Inquisition tunic and breeches.  “Commander, pardon my intrusion,” she murmured with a faint smile.  “The Inquisitor asked me to check up on you.  She was worried when you did not come down for breakfast.”

Cullen groaned, running a hand over his face.  “Shit.  What time is it?”

“Not too late,” Leliana assured him. “You know how Lavellan is - rise with the dawn.”

Even so, Cullen knew it had to be well into the morning if the Inquisitor was inquiring after him with enough force to spur Leliana into coming to his room.  “Alright, let her know I will be down shortly.”

“Of course, Commander,” she hummed before leaving, shutting the door behind her softly.

Cullen made quick work of dressing, hating the Inquisition tunic and how poorly it fit around his chest and arms. Josephine would tease that he either needed to see the tailor to have a new set made, or go back to sitting at his desk all day to lose the excess muscle he had gained over the past year.

His lyrium addiction finally gone, his apparatuses destroyed, Cullen had put everything into training with the men, honing his body, focusing on making himself stronger and faster for no other reason than he wanted to be ready.  

Ready for whatever came of the Exalted Council.  Ready for whatever horrors came with Hawke through the Fade, wherever those horrors might be now.

Cullen made his way down to Lavellan’s favorite banquet room and found her at an empty table with an empty plate.  He stopped beside her, pressing a hand gently to her shoulder to alert her of his presence.

“Cullen,” she beamed.  “Get food; I will be here for a while longer.”

He did as bidden, filling a plate with sweet smelling bread and candied fruits.  He usually went for meats, eggs, protein, but something about that morning seemed different.  It seemed like sweetness was required.

When he returned to Lavellan’s table, she was still smiling brightly.  “Leliana thinks that we should only be here for another week, at most.  Deliberations seem to be going in our favor so far.  Are you sure you do not wish to come to the meetings?  Perhaps your insights could sway Ferelden?”

Cullen snorted, tearing the bread apart and picking through the flaky pastry.  “If anything I would drive Arl Guerrin away.  He is going to be against us no matter what we say.  Having a templar traitor trying to dissuade him will only make his annoyance greater.”

Lavellan frowned but nodded. “I had not thought of that.  I am not very good with politics.”

Cullen ate in silence for a while before glancing up at Lavellan.  She was looking wistfully across the dining hall, watching nobles flitter to and from, flirting and fawning. Lavellan looked removed from it all - graceful and silent, a halla among the sheep.

“Have you heard anything?” he asked softly.

She glanced back at him, her large, green eyes softening.  “Nothing.  If he does not wish to be found, he will not be found.”

Cullen swallowed past the lump in his throat.  They had shared the same trauma only a handful of months apart.  Lavellan’s, however, had been much worse. While Cullen’s lover had left him in a noble, selfless way, Lavellan’s had simply disappeared.

“You will see him again,” Cullen said, feeling the truth in his words.

She smiled, and Cullen was again startled to see her brow move without the slender tree branch designs that had decorated her forehead before.  Not long before Solas had left, her markings had disappeared.  She hadn’t spoken of it to anyone, and most were too nervous to ask.  No one knew what the markings meant, or what their sudden lack of presence meant.  In such cases, it was considered proper society just not to ask.

“Have you?”

“Have I?” Cullen asked, confused. He had been too focused on things that did not matter.

“Have you heard anything?  Any sign of her?”

Cullen shook his head, though it was becoming easier to answer that question with each day that passed.  “Nothing yet. You are sure... you are sure she is no longer in the Fade?”

Lavellan nodded for what had to be the hundredth time.  He asked her nearly daily but she still never failed to look sympathetic.

The voices from the Well spoke to her ceaselessly. Lavellan had seemed to learn how to tune things out, to shut her mind off for a time, but one voice broke through to alert her that the Fade had opened, just briefly, just for a moment, and the hawk had flown free.

That had been almost a year ago.

It was cryptic, as most things related to the Fade were, but Lavellan was sure that the voice had meant Marian Hawke.  She was certain that the woman had somehow escaped and would make her way back to Cullen.

Cullen kept his faith.  It was all he could do, given everything else going on around them.  He read the journal nightly, staying up late and pouring over each curve of her looping penmanship, each speckle from rain or sea spray, each blush of dirt, and sand stuck in the binding.  It was the only way he could feel close to her anymore.  It was the only way he had managed to keep her alive.

Josephine approached them, looking more at home than Cullen would ever understand. She, like Leliana, thrived in this environment. “Good morning, Inquisitor, Commander.  The Council is preparing to come together now if you are ready?”

“As ready as I can ever be,” Lavellan chuckled, turning her soft gaze to Cullen.  She patted his hand, her fingers warm on his.  “Keep faith,” she said as she did each time they parted.

“You, as well,” he bade her.  He watched her leave and looked down at his empty plate, suddenly not feeling well.  It was either the sugar or the late night with little sleep.  Or, perhaps, he was sensing something amiss.

He cleared away their dishes and strolled through the gardens for a while, pausing long enough to look into the tavern where most of the Inquisition forces not in the rotation were drinking.  He had avoided the place, mostly because alcohol had replaced lyrium as a vice for a time.  But, more than that, he sought quiet.

As he ambled through the trellises and arches, he stopped when a familiar voice caught his ear.  He turned and found Varric striding toward him, smiling.  The dwarf was looking well - more tanned than the last time Cullen had seen him, more refined somehow.

“Viscount Tethras,” Cullen chuckled, turning to walk toward the dwarf.  “How have you been?  Kirkwall seems to be treating you well - and thriving under your rule if the rumors are true.”

They shook hands, Varric seeming honestly excited to see Cullen.  “The stories are shockingly accurate,” Varric laughed. “I am doing okay for being the leader of a city-state.  They don’t tell you that you can’t do whatever you want or give shit away to people you like.”

“I am fairly confident they do.”

“Well, that doesn’t stop me.  I have a Key to the City for Cookie,” he said, referring to the Inquisitor.  “And one for Waffles if she ever gets her ass back to us.”

Cullen smiled and ducked his head.  “Soon.”

“I hope you’re right,” Varric sighed, shaking his head and glancing around.  “Ran into the Iron Lady near the spa.  She was saying something about treating us to a soak if we promised to put some weight behind her First Enchanter bid.”

Cullen sighed.  “Politics.  Why is it always politics now?”

“Well, when you save the world, what else is there to do?  Politics is the obvious course of action,” Varric shrugged.  “Don’t knock it until you try it, Curly.  You should come by Kirkwall, see if you can get a taste for it.  I can probably make you Seneschal.  The current one is fun to mess with, but he’s starting to get boring.”  He then glanced around quickly. “Would you look at that? First time I’ve spoken bad about him, and he hasn’t appeared like a lame shoulder spirit.”

His Seneschal did not appear, but Leliana did.  She was even faced, smiling, but there was a tight set to her brow.  “Varric, so happy to see you. The Council has called a recess, and the Inquisitor would like to see you on the veranda. Cullen, would you have a moment?”

Varric departed after a quick goodbye and kissing one of Leliana’s slender hands, leaving Cullen to follow after Leliana.  She walked fluidly, slowly, and murmured, “Keep your voice calm and your facial expressions to a minimum, Commander, I am about to ruin your day.”

Cullen checked the urge to groan.  “What has happened?”

“We are not entirely sure yet,” she returned.  “But we have found a dead Qunari agent in the Winter Palace and an open eluvian in a cordoned off hallway in the Eastern Wing.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen whispered, running a hand through his hair and over the back of his neck.

“Keep smiling, Commander, we would not wish to arouse suspicion,” she added, coming to a stop and facing him. “I will keep you informed.  I would suggest you be at the ready in case we need you.”

“Of course,” he said quickly.  “I will stay in the courtyard for ease.”

Leliana nodded, her smile widening. “Well.  Most Holy cannot hold them off forever - we will need to begin the deliberations without Lavellan for now.  Are you sure you wouldn’t care to sit in?”

“If I can avoid it, no.”

She chuckled and patted his arm.  “Go to the spa, relax, and enjoy yourself.  But keep your eyes open.”

Cullen nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat.  “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

The day had been a silent one.  Lavellan had returned through the eluvian and was doing her best to keep her placid face serene, to act as if nothing was wrong. Even so, she was quick to inform Cullen that there was a plot brewing and she was still unsure as to what the desired goal was.

As the evening slipped into night, Lavellan finally retired to her quarters.  Cullen knew she would spend most of the evening drawing out charts and sketches of what she had seen.  She was like Hawke - she needed to rehash things to burn them into her mind, to focus. Where Hawke had her writing, Lavellan had her drawing. _"I am just an average person,”_ Lavellan had told him once when he caught her sketching the Temple of Mythal in her journal. _“I need reminders to show me where I have been, where I need to go.”_

As Cullen ascended the staircase of the North Wing, he found a servant standing outside of his room, staring in through the open door.

Cullen was too surprised to be taken aback. “What is the meaning of this?”

The servant, a sweet-faced girl no older than sixteen, turned wide eyes on him. “Oh, ser, apologies. This blasted hound will not leave and snarls if I try to get close!”

Cullen moved past her and into the room.  There was a beautiful brindle mabari on his bed, panting and wagging its stubby tail at him. The thing looked as though it had never been more pleased in its life. _"_ _This_ hound was snarling at you?”

She blushed.  “He was fierce just moments ago, ser, I swear it!”

“Where did he come from?”

The maid made a soft noise of disquiet.  “One of our Orlesian guests brought him, muzzled and bound because he would bite.  The guest left this afternoon and seemed to have forgotten the beast.”

Cullen moved toward the bed, and the hound’s tail wiggled faster.  The thing hopped up, springing to his feet on the bed and bouncing in circles.  Cullen chuckled in spite of himself, remember Jakke’s never ending energy.  He offered his hand to the dog, and it sniffed him curiously before slathering his fingers in slobber.

“He seems to like you,” the maid said, sounding both surprised and off-put.  “Would you mind bringing him down to the kennels?  I know he won’t be a good hunting dog, on account of his temper with most people, but Master Roddick could put him down with little fuss. He’s done it before.  These silly nobles get pets who they cannot care for all the time.”

Cullen was sure his face was horrified when he looked at her.  “You would put him down? For a noble’s mistake?”

The hound growled at the maid, and she shivered.  “If you wish to keep him, he is yours,” the girl said quickly, stepping further back into the hall.  “He seems to like you well enough.”

Cullen sighed, looking back at the mabari who was watching him, making a curious noise.  Cullen deflated under the dark, intelligent eyes.  “I will keep him.”

The hound let out a bone-rattling bark and continued his bed bouncing.

 

* * *

 

Cullen should have been used to rude awakenings but they still somehow managed to startle him.  Josephine had slipped into his room and was shaking him, whispering harshly, “Commander, wake up!”

Cullen sat up, still muddled from his dream of his new mabari chasing after Jakke in the fields around Lake Calenhad.  “What?” he demanded, rubbing the sleep from his weary eyes.  The mabari on the bed beside him perked up, watching Josephine with curiousness.

Josephine didn’t ask about the hound.  Her face was intense, worried.  “I need you to come with me.”

“What has happened?” he demanded, getting out of bed and sliding into a pair of lambskin breeches and a thick tunic to cut the chill of the evening air.  “The Qunari?”

“No,” she returned, worrying her lower lip.  “I have been informed by the Orlesians that there is someone at the gate claiming to be Marian Hawke. I wanted to bring you before I-”

Cullen stepped into his boots, not even bothering to lace them.  “Stay,” he told the mabari which whined but complied. He and Josephine were out the door in mere seconds, Josephine struggling to keep up with Cullen’s pace.

The gates were still barred and surrounded by more guardsmen than would ever be necessary outside of a visit from the Empress herself. Cullen pushed his way past, wild eyes scanning through the darkness.  

The torches illuminated her hair before anything else.  The dark locks picked up the light and reflected it back.  Her face was youthful; her eyes were not rimmed in dark circles as they had once been. Her jester smile was on her lips when she saw him. Her pale eyes met his, and he nearly fell to his knees.  “Well, well, fancy seeing you here,” she cooed.

“Open the gate,” he ordered, sharper than he needed to.

When the bars were just wide enough for her to squeeze through, she launched herself between them and into Cullen’s arms, burying her face into his tunic.  

“You’re… you’re here,” he breathed into her hair. “You are really here, aren’t you?”

“I told you I would find my way back,” she breathed, and Cullen couldn’t help the quiet gasp that escaped his lips.

They held one another for what felt like seconds but was closer to minutes.  When she pulled back, she chuckled, wiping at her eyes.  “I’m sorry it took so long, I had… business.”

“Business?”

“I can tell you about it when we are alone,” she murmured, turning back to grab the reins of her white horse and lead it in.  “Is there somewhere for me to stable her?”

Cullen turned, finding an Inquisition scout watching the proceedings with interest.  “You there. Stable this horse, get it fed, watered, and brushed down.”

“Of course,” the scout said quickly, taking the reins from Hawke and bowing slightly.  

Hawke grabbed her bags from the back of the mare, watching it be led away before she turned her smile to Josephine.  “Lady Ambassador, you are looking well.”

“As are you, Lady Hawke,” Josephine gushed. She was always one for happy endings and romance.  “As much as I would like to speak more, I believe our Commander would like you to himself for a time.”

Cullen smiled at Josephine gratefully and bid her good night, leading Hawke further into the palace and toward his room in the Northern Wing.  He had taken her bags from her, even though she protested about being able to carry her things, and hooked his arm around her waist.  They did not speak as they moved through the echoing halls but Cullen could feel Hawke radiating with excitement.

By the time Cullen closed the door to his room - their room - behind them, the mabari had launched himself at Hawke, knocking her down and covering her face in kisses.  She was laughing delightedly, hands running over the thick coat of the hound as she giggled. “Cullen!  You got a hound?”

“Off, get off, mabari,” he ordered.  The dog reluctantly bounced away, dancing in circles in front of the hearth.

“You haven’t named him?” she asked, sounding slightly affronted.  “You can’t just call him _mabari_ \- he needs a good name!”

“I just took possession of him this evening,” Cullen defended himself, setting her bags down in the corner and finally turning to look at her.  She wore a long, slender black dress that clung to her chest and hips, flowing like liquid around her legs.  As she descended to coo at the mabari, taking the hound’s face between her hands, Cullen noticed that the back of her dress was completely cut out, displaying the dragon in all of its glory.

Cullen did not care that the fashion was not in the norm.  He did not care that so much skin on display was a faux-pas among the nobles.  All he cared about was that she was there, in his room, and she was whole.

“Marian.”

She turned to him, getting to her feet.  Her smile widened as she stepped toward him, the hem of her dress dusting across the tile as she approached.  Her hands slid around his neck wordlessly, her lips covering his, her hands in his hair.

Something was bothering him about her touch, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he gently lowered himself, hefting up her skirts and pulling the dress off of her.  Her smallclothes joined the pile, and he removed her boots quickly before pressing his face against her abdomen, against the deep scar there, breathing her in.

She chuckled and pulled him up to his feet, slowly undressing him.  Her hands took their time, unlike he had done, and smoothed over his chest, his arms, his hips.  She kissed her way back up from where she had stripped him of his boots, her mouth feverish on his skin.

Cullen could take no more pretense and picked her up, depositing her on the bed and effortlessly sliding between her legs.  He entered her slowly, admiring how she gasped, how she arched her back and pressed herself into him.  Her eyes remained open, watching him as her hands traced over every inch of him that she could reach.

Her hair was longer again, dusting her shoulders in loose waves.  He buried his face into the locks and, instead of the sweat and campfire smell he had anticipated, she smelled like spun sugar with a hint of something metallic. Like armor. Like blood.

He blinked, confused for a moment before her hips thrust up into his, breaking his train of thought.  He groaned into her hair and pulled back only enough to cover her mouth with his.

Her tongue found his, bumping against him and smoothing over and around it.  Her nails gripped into his shoulders, digging in with enough force to hurt if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in finally having her again.

“Roll over,” she murmured, her mouth twitching into something dark, something primordial.

“What?” he gasped.

“Roll over,” she repeated, louder this time, and pushed at his chest.

She was stronger than he had remembered.  He pulled out of her and got onto his back as requested.  She didn’t straddle him, as he expected - not right away. Her mouth lowered to his cock and he almost shouted past the feeling of her warmth sucking him into her, pulling him deeper, his cock bumping against the back of her throat.

He had always been impressed with her mouth’s abilities, but this was something else entirely.  She was rough, her tongue sweeping over him with a fervor he wasn’t sure he had ever experienced before.  She moaned around him, making his cock vibrate and his need swell, his orgasm threatening to overtake him.

As if she knew exactly what was happening, she pulled back and sat on top of him, her passage sliding onto him quickly.  She rode him with intensity, her moans getting louder as she gripped his chest, her pelvis angling and sliding down onto him quickly, pace speeding up exactly when Cullen wanted it to, slowing as he felt his need close to the breaking point.

Hawke moved as if she was in his head as if she knew exactly what he needed, what he wanted, and she was more than willing to give it to him.

She would touch herself, too, her hands gliding over her breasts, teasing her nipples, sliding down the flat plain of her stomach to tweak the sensitive nub between her legs.  She came many times in rapid succession, her body undulating above him.

Cullen gasped through his orgasm, the release sweet and sharp.  He cried out her name, unable to help himself, and she smiled, hands going to either side of his face, her lips lowering to his.  Her tongue swept along his mouth as he panted, shuddering past the intense climax, the need so long denied.

She remained on top of him, the muscles of her passage gripping him inside of her as she leaned over him, kissing him. After a while she moved to his side, curling up against him and falling into a fitful sleep.

He laid awake, trying to puzzle through what had been bothering him.  Hawke certainly seemed different, but her time in the Fade could explain away her excitement to see him, her avidity.  But there was something else, something he couldn’t grasp.

The mabari joined them on the bed, curling up at their feet and snoring softly.  It was as he held Hawke close, her hand on his chest, that he realized what the problem was.

Her hands, which had always been like ice, were now warm - too warm.  Her entire body radiated with heat as if there was a fire burning from the inside of her.

Cullen tried very hard to keep the dread from his heart.  Even so, he was unable to fall asleep in the realization that there was something very different about the woman in his arms.

 

* * *

 

“Are you a demon?”

Hawke chuckled, turning amused eyes away from the dress she had chosen for the day and onto Cullen.  When she realized he wasn’t complimenting her sexual prowess or joking, her smile faded, and she looked hurt. “Why would you ask me such a thing?”

“You are… different.”

She dropped the dress onto her bags and strode toward him, her naked body doing all it could to distract him.  And, Maker help him, it was working.  She pushed him back onto the bed and climbed onto his lap, her hips rocking steadily, flaming his cock without any difficulty.

“Marian, you can’t -- _stop,”_ he ordered, trying to be firm but it came out like a whimper, unsure, wavering.

“I am no demon,” she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips against his ear.  Her hips did not stop moving and, as his cock bumped against her passage, she lowered herself onto him.  Cullen gasped and groaned, hating himself for being so weak, for letting her control him so effortlessly.  She could have easily been a desire demon - Cullen would have no power over her, no power over himself to stop her.

“What business did you have for the past year?” he asked, breathless.

She chuckled softly, hips circling, drawing him into her.  “I am here now.  Is that not enough?”

“Tell me,” he demanded, fingers gripping into her sides tightly.

“I was visiting an old friend in Kirkwall,” she replied cryptically, her body angling, her breasts pressing into his chest.  “She plans to help us when we need her.  I only needed to confirm her assistance.  And then I was looking for the Antivan Witch of the Wilds.  She, however, will not be helping us.”

“What?” he asked, trying to focus.  “What you are saying, it... it means nothing.”

“It means everything.”  She kissed him, her body slowing above his, taking him into her gradually, deeply.  “But I _am_ different.  I am better.  I needed help in the Fade, help to get back to you... and help was offered.  I was given a way out, and I did not hesitate - I leaped into the abyss, and I learned that I could fly.”

Cullen pulled back from her, his eyes widening.  What she had said… it had been in her journal, too. The words the dragon woman uttered; the words of Flemeth. Mythal. “What…?”

“I’m no demon, Cullen,” she chuckled softly, coaxing him closer and closer to his climax in spite of him trying everything in his power to stop it.  She sped up again, and Cullen gasped, letting out a long, low, agonized moan as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, his orgasm beating into his core and tamping down the fear she had instilled in him.

He collapsed back onto the bed, and she crawled up his body, her tongue tracing along his lower lip.

“What are you?” he whispered.

She chuckled softly, pulling back to meet his gaze.  “I am myself, Cullen.  I am the former Champion of Kirkwall. I am the one who defeated the Nightmare.  I am the one who roamed the Fade for close to two years until Mythal took pity on me - or used me.  Either way, I was saved.  And now I am a dragon.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen had used their time apart that day to try to halfheartedly think of a way to talk himself out of loving her.  He hadn’t wanted to believe Hawke at first.  He had wanted to believe her mind addled by her time in the Fade, by the terror demon, but he knew better.  He remembered his conversation with Lavellan those years ago when she rushed into his office to tell him that Hawke was alive, that Lavellan had met Mythal and the woman, the God, had assured her that Hawke would return.

And now Hawke had returned.  And, it seemed, Hawke had a piece of Mythal inside of her.

Cullen tried to find a way to either accept what had happened or find a way to end things with Hawke.  He knew the latter was impossible, however, and that he was wasting his time pretending to consider it.  He loved her. He loved everything about her and had since before he had allowed himself to admit it.  The fact that she was suddenly more than she once was… it was just something that happened.

But was it?  

Cullen threw the ball for the mabari, watching him chase after it with gusto.  The hound would spend a good ten seconds gnashing on the ball before bringing it back, covered in slime and reeking of dog breath.  But Cullen kept throwing it, finding the rhythm focusing.

He couldn’t leave Hawke.  He couldn’t abandon her, not after everything.  She was her old self but with a tremendous confidence that he hadn’t seen in any other living person. She was vivacious - she laughed with delight that he’d never seen since the early days in Kirkwall.  When she spoke, she commanded a room.  When she smiled, Cullen could almost see everyone around her falling in love.

He tossed the ball further, watching the mabari tear after it while woofing happily.

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

Cullen turned to find the object of his deliberation smiling at him.  And, like everyone else, Cullen felt his heart melting under Hawke’s gaze, under her unwavering attentions.  “Not yet.  I thought… I thought you might help me.”

She chuckled and came to lean against the planter beside him.  “I’m sorry.  I should have told you about everything before I got you into bed.  Before we even entered your room.”

“Our room,” he corrected on impulse.

She leaned her head against his arm and let out a soft laugh.  “You surprise me, Rutherford.  This morning you accuse me of being a demon, find out I have an elven god’s spirit inside of me, and now you seem to be in love with me again.”

It sounded absurd when said aloud.  Maker, it sounded absurd in his head.  Even so, his head and his heart never seemed to be on the same page when it came to Marian Hawke.  “I have never stopped loving you, even through absences and your possible death.  I cannot imagine anything could shake me from you.”  As he said it, he had never spoken truer words.  If she asked him to kill for her, he would.  He already had.  He listened to her breathe, her head still on his shoulder, and murmured. “What did Lavellan say?”  He tossed the ball again, watching the mabari run.

“She was surprised, of course,” Hawke said simply.  “Leliana was quite concerned about it, as one would expect. You cannot handle possession lightly. But there are… things… in the works. I do not know the details yet, but I do know that Fen’Harel plans something.  And that he stole a piece of me… of Mythal.”

“He... Hawke, I need you to be plain with me.”

She smiled, glancing up at him.  “I’m sorry, much of this is not my knowledge, but Mythal’s.  It 's hard to speak plainly when it comes to her knowledge, but I will make an effort for you.  Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf in sheep’s clothing, took a piece of Mythal into himself.  She was able to instill a part of herself in me, much as Corypheus did with his dragon.  I came through her eluvian to find Flemeth petrified, betrayed by the Dread Wolf. I felt it happen within my very being, Cullen.  I felt him destroy her; I felt how he turned on her, the one true friend he had left in this world.  Well… aside from Lavellan, but that has changed.”

“Marian-”

“Solas carries the Dread Wolf within him,” she answered without Cullen's question completed.  “Lavellan is taking the news poorly, as you might expect.  I am not sure what Fen’Harel needs with Mythal, with the piece of her, _of me,_ he stole.  But I know it will not be pleasant.  If he needs her power in addition to his own….”  She sighed and grabbed the ball from the mabari who was dancing at their feet.

“That bastard lied to us all,” Cullen snapped, running a hand through his hair.  “He-”

“He is not evil, simply misguided.  I should have known when he took an interest in my story about a dragon with a talisman who saved my life.  I should have pieced something together, but… I was not myself then.  Not who I am now.”  She tossed the ball, and the hound tore after it.

Cullen watched her as she stood there in her crimson dress which bared her back and shoulders and clung to her like water. She looked beautiful and dangerous.  She looked like a god trapped inside a human’s body.

“What does this mean for the Inquisition?” he asked softly.

“I have suggested to Lavellan and Leliana that they disband the Inquisition officially,” she murmured.  “Cassan- Divine Victoria begrudgingly agrees, given all that is happening. I believe we can work more effectively, more quietly, from the shadows.  We need to prepare for the worst, for Fen'Harel to make a grievous mistake that could ruin the world.”

“What do you mean?” he pressed.

She turned to look at him, ignoring the mabari panting at her side, waiting for her to take the saliva-covered ball from his mouth.  “I do not know.  But if he needed Mythal’s power to do it, then… then I suppose it will be something disastrous.”

 

* * *

 

The group dinner was unusually somber given the new revelations.  There was a Qunari plot to take over the southern territories, there was gaatlok in places of power throughout Thedas, the Winter Palace included, and Hawke was carrying an ancient elven god in her body.

“Can you at least become a dragon?” Varric asked, trying to instill some amusement into his voice but failing.  He looked worried as he stared at Hawke from across the table.   Cullen’s heart broke for the dwarf and not for the first time.  Varric loved Hawke, that much had always been clear - perhaps even more than he would ever let on to, more than he could ever admit.

“Not that I have tried yet, but yes, in theory,” she replied, trying to smile.  It wilted before it could fully form.

“I think that would be the first thing I would try,” Dorian spoke up, sipping from his wine glass.  “You know, if I was stupid enough to take an Old God into my body.”  Dorian caught Cullen’s glare and shrugged nonchalantly. “You know as well as any of us that it’s a foolish thing.  Possibly more foolish than mucking with demons.”

“I would take a dragon over a demon any day,” the Iron Bull said, running a hand over his face.  The humor in his voice did not reach his eyes.  “As much as I appreciate Hawke and her sudden ability to breathe fire, could we get back to the Qunari?”

“I don’t see the issue,” Sera muttered darkly from where she was poking at her dinner. “We bust in, kick that Viddasala whatsit in her beautiful, stupid face and come home heroes, yeah?  All in a day with Inky.”

“Does anything that comes out of your mouth make sense?” Vivienne asked harshly.

“Leave her be,” Blackwall, or Thom Rainier as he was called now, grumbled.  “She is only trying to help.”

“The most help she can offer is to stay silent,” Vivienne simpered.  Josephine gasped, looking horrified.

“Enough,” Cullen interjected, knowing that Lavellan’s brow furrowing meant that a headache was on the way.  They needed their Inquisitor at her best and the troops bickering among themselves and resorting to nasty potshots was not helping.

“Sera is right,” Leliana said.  “We must keep our minds on the task at hand.  We follow the Viddasala’s note, we find the eluvian she indicated, and we stop her.”

“Who’s this _we,_ anyway?” Sera asked, uncowed by Vivienne’s words.

“I would be more than happy to help,” Hawke murmured, her voice the only one in the room.  “I will need to get fitted with new armor, but I am sure-”

“No,” Lavellan murmured, finally speaking.  “If what you say is true, if there is something bigger coming, something with So… Fen'Harel, then we need you here and prepared.”

“Ellana, I mean no disrespect, but I do not think he even has the power to do anything y-”

Lavellan held up her hand, and the words died on Hawke’s lips.  “I will take Varric, Bull, and Thom.  Is everyone up to this?”

“I am up for anything, my lady,” Thom replied.

“Same here, Boss.”

“Count me in,” Varric nodded.  “When do we leave? Tonight?”

“No,” Josephine said quickly, still looking dismayed at the behavior and shortness she had seen thus far.  “You all need rest. You have been run ragged all day.  Let us eat and drink and be pleasant before tomorrow morning, yes?”

The table fell into silence, each person pushing food around their plates as though trying to turn everything to slush.  Even Josephine stared into her chalice morosely, unable to think of a single cheerful thing to say.

 

* * *

 

When Cullen came back to the room after letting the mabari out to relieve himself and get some exercise, he returned to find Hawke undressing.  He wondered briefly if she had waited to do so until he came back, waited to tempt him, to see if her body still held sway over him.  Which it did.  It truly did.  He couldn’t look at her bare backside, her thighs, without forgetting his thoughts.

The mabari tore into the room, licking Hawke’s thigh as he passed her to fall onto his new bed. Hawke had made it earlier in the day during their absence, citing her boredom and his need for a bed.  She had bought silks of the deepest blue from the Orlesian market in the courtyard and sewn them together around a plush thicket of goose down.  The dog sank into the bed and let out a pleased huff, gnawing on one of the many wooden toys Hawke had somehow procured.

Cullen walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into her shoulder, his nose in her hair. “You spoil him already.  He will be the only hound alive to sleep on a bed plusher than the Empress’.”

Hawke snorted and turned her head slightly, kissing his forehead.  “Have you thought of a name yet?”

Cullen grumbled.  “I had hoped you would come up with one.”

“He is your hound, Cullen; you have to pick a name.”

“He is _our_ hound,” he corrected.  The mabari let out a pleased bark to accentuate his point.  “You should have some say in it.”

“You do not want me naming a living creature,” she chuckled.  “I called my last hound _Jakke._  It is possibly the least beastly name I could have chosen.”

Cullen chuckled, kissing her neck through her fall of hair.  “I bet I could think of worse.”

Hawke snorted and pulled back from him, draping herself onto the bed, propped up on her elbows, watching him.  “I sincerely doubt that. Try.”

Cullen began to slowly remove his boots and clothing, watching as her eyes turned from playful to aroused.  Her pupils, so dark against her icy eyes, were widening as he removed his smallclothes and slid over her, lips descending on hers.

Between kisses, he suggested the worst names his already disoriented mind could bring forth.  “Rex.  Ragged.  Rowdy.”

She snorted and pulled back long enough to mutter. “You’re not even trying! You’re just listing _R_ words!”

“You never told me I had to be imaginative,” he murmured, trailing his lips down her neck to her collarbone.  “Imagination is not my strong suit, Lady Hawke.”

She chuckled and leaned back into the bed, her hands smoothing through his hair.  “Maicoh,” she breathed, words hitching as his lips descended lower, tongue flicking over her navel.  “Skoll.”  He buried himself between her legs and Hawke let out a short cry of delight.

He drank her in, tasting her, feeling her move against his mouth.  Where she had been forceful and full of angry energy the night before, and that morning, she was now relaxed, her body moving as it used to - slow and sensual, sweet.  He had certainly enjoyed watching her pleasure both of them with a fervor that still stunned him, but there was something about seeing her vulnerable, seeing her willing to give herself over to him, that made his chest swell with love.

Her breath was beginning to rasp as she continued to whimper potential names.  “Asher.  Faolan. Reule  Yurd -- _oh, Maker,_ Cullen, _yes,”_ she groaned suddenly, her pelvis shoving against his face.

His tongue swirled around her, tracing the top of her clitoris, the place she was most sensitive. Her legs had begun to tremble, and Cullen knew she was close.  She had stopped forming words, her entire body twitching while she moaned, her panting coming faster and louder.

“Cullen, yes,” she cried out, hips bucking.  “Cullen-” but her voice cut off and her body stilled, a wash of moisture meeting Cullen’s tongue.  He took his time licking as much as he could while she shuddered and gasped, her entire body quaking.

When she finally stilled, her breathing coming out softer, Cullen slid up the bed and pulled Hawke onto his lap.  She straddled him, her forehead pressing into his and began to move slowly, rhythmically.

“I thought you said you couldn’t come up with names,” he teased her gently, pushing her hair back from her face.  He kissed her cheeks, the flushed skin that begged for caresses.  He held her tightly to him, his fingers on her spine, feeling each move as it resonated through her body and into his.

“Did you like any of them?” she breathed, lips going to his jaw.

“Hmm.  I think I liked Maicoh the best.”

She laughed, slapping his chest.  He ducked his head to nip her hand which only made her giggle.  “You could have said something sooner. That was my first suggestion!”

“I had other things on my mind,” he replied smoothly, one of his hands slipping between their bodies, pressing into her swollen nub. She mewled, her head tilting back, hair brushing against his free hand.  “What do you think, boy?” Cullen called to the dog.  “Maicoh?”

The dog uttered three sharp barks of affirmation.

“Maicoh it is,” Hawke chuckled breathlessly.  “I suppose all we need now is a field for him to run through.”

Cullen swallowed, thinking back to his dream of Maicoh and Jakke running through a field near Lake Calenhad.  The lake close to the dock he always loved. Still loved.

As Hawke rode him, he pressed his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her, sweet and metallic.  His mind ran wild, picturing them in that field, imagining the house he built with his own hands, picturing Hawke planting an herb garden like the one she had in Kirkwall. He pictured long evenings on that dock, sitting together with their feet in the water.

Hawke came with a gentle sigh against his neck, his finger still circling her clit, and her walls tightened around him so much that his climax rushed over him without warning.  They clung to one another, bodies shuddering, not speaking.

Cullen finally laid back on the bed, Hawke draped over him like the warmest blanket he had ever encountered. “Can she… can she hear us?  See us?” he asked suddenly.

Hawke raised her head slightly to look at him.  “Who?”

“Mythal.”

Hawke chuckled softly, brushing a hand over his cheek. “She is not separate from me.  There is no pocket in my mind that she lives within, breaking out from time to time to cause mischief.  There is only me.”

“But she is part of you now?” he asked, trying desperately to understand.

“I am still myself.  I have never stopped being myself. But now I have her experiences, her past, her knowledge.  I am myself, Cullen.  Just… with more of a bite.”

Cullen thought about that for a moment, grazing her arm with his hand absently as he did.  She was herself, but with more of a bite.  If there was one thing no one ever said of Hawke, it was that she didn’t have enough bite.  But now she was more than herself. Greater.

She was a dragon instead of a tempest.

“Do you desire to be something more than you once did?” he asked finally.

She frowned at him, fingers scratching through the stubble of his beard. “What are you asking?”

“Could you ever be happy without being… greater than yourself?  Without saving the world by yourself or… or battling against other elven gods on your own, or whatever will happen in the coming years?”

Her eyes softened. “Are you asking if I am going to leave again?”

“You do enjoy your adventures.”

She chuckled, kissing his chin.  “Cullen, I will not leave your side if I can help it.  And I assume, in the coming years, when we have to do something about Fen'Harel and whatever he has in store for us… I assume you will stay at my side?”

“Forever,” he breathed, his hands rising to cup her face.  “Marian, I want… I want to be with you, no matter what you carry inside of you.  Irrespective of if you can turn into a dragon and burn our house down.”

Hawke ducked her head onto his chest, laughing.  When she looked back at him, his heart melted.  There she was - the woman who laid beside him in Skyhold, under the stars at Lake Calenhad.  She was playful and sweet and looked at him as if he was her world.  “You said _our_ house.”

“I did,” he replied softly.

Her smile spread wider.  “Are you asking me to live with you, Cullen?”

“If the Inquisition is disbanded, yes,” he breathed.  “But even if we do not disband.  Even if….”

Hawke’s body was somehow warmer suddenly.  Her face was flushing, and the impishness in her eyes reminded him of her first year in Kirkwall.  The first time he noticed her. The first time he spoke to her.  The way he felt as though he would blush for months after her flirtations.

“Cullen,” she began softly, “what are you really asking me?”

Cullen had not planned it, not this way.  He had not prepared for it, even, but the words came out all the same.  “Marry me.”

Hawke’s shout of delight could have woken up the entire Wing.

 

* * *

 

Lavellan graced into the chamber and Cullen held his breath. The woman had suffered much over the years he had known her, but the most recent betrayal by her one-time lover would have been too much for a weaker person to bear. But Lavellan glided above it all, a graceful statue in the middle of the storm.

Hawke stood very still beside him, watching the elf stride toward the table where Leliana and Josephine stood.

“Please be seated,” Divine Victoria, Cassandra, said.

“If it pleases all those involved,” Lavellan began, her voice firm, “I move to suggest we end deliberations now. Due to mounting concerns about our organization, and in light of the recent corruption in our ranks, I, Inquisitor Lavellan, ask Divine Victoria to dissolve the Inquisition she called forth.”

Arl Teagan Guerrin looked stunned, even more so than Duke Cyril de Montfort.

Divine Victoria smiled sadly. “At your request, and at the urging of our brothers and sisters in Ferelden and Orlais… I do dissolve the Inquisition.”

“If I might add something else,” Lavellan interrupted the shocked and surprised noises around them.

“Of course,” Divine Victoria allowed.

Lavellan looked around at all of those surrounding her, at the Exalted Council, and then said clearly and passionately, “Though the Inquisition will begin disbanding today, I wish to express my sincerest gratitude to all those who have bolstered our ranks, who have fought for everyone in this room, everyone in Thedas. We have finally found a moment of peace, of respite. I hope it lasts forever. I hope we never face the need to take up our banner again, to unify against an invading power or a tragedy such as what we saw at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But, if peace does not stay, if disaster or invasion occurs, if things become dark and there does not seem to be an ounce of hope - remember that there are unsung heroes who will fight for you. We are out there still, and we are always watching, ready to defend those who need it.”

Lavellan paused, her voice thick with emotion. “Though we disband today, we are not weakened. We will always be here for you, all of you. We will always be willing to take up the banner and fight for the lands we love, the lands we will die to defend.”

The applause was deafening as Lavellan left the room and pushed through the crowd, her one remaining arm being gently touched by all those who she passed.

 

* * *

 

 

The group began filtering away as soon as the Exalted Council was over. Sera had slipped out without telling anyone where she planned to go, but she did leave a pile of popping stones at Lavellan’s door, scaring her half to death when her foot hit them and sounded like a miniature explosion. Vivienne left without a single word - possibly still annoyed at being denied Divinehood, probably still annoyed that no one backed her claim as First Enchanter. Even so, her coronation was scheduled for the new position the following month.

The Iron Bull and his Chargers left next, citing a new contract in Nevarra. Dorian was gone shortly after, needing to attend to his duties in Tevinter. He was unnerved at the possible threat of a renewed war with the Qunari, as Fen'Harel had warned.

Leliana departed for a new home she had secured outside of Val Royeaux. “A perfect place to raise nugs!” She had said brightly before kissing the cheeks of Josephine, Cullen, and Lavellan. “Do come by if you are in the area. When I settle, I will send word.”

Josephine left for Antiva to see after her family’s new trading empire. She seemed reluctant to go, murmuring, “After all we have done, I find it hard to think that shipping manifests and stuffy balls will be anywhere close to exhilarating.”

Cole, who none of them had seen, had somehow left a note and flowers on Lavellan’s bed while she slept. The flowers were vibrant and orange, filled with a thick scent of springtime. The parchment was cryptic, just as the spirit himself was. _The green fire is not lost forever, though purple and red will mask all other colors. He hurts for you as you do him. Remember him fondly but carefully - memories cloud judgment like rainy days in summer. The screaming inside will lessen with time._

Thom left with only a brief goodbye, looking awkward and trying not to. “I, eh. I am not good at these things,” he told Lavellan. “So. I am going. Tell the others if you wish. I will miss you all - didn’t expect that when I signed on, but… I guess all things change with time.”

The four who remained after the first two weeks found themselves sitting with Cassandra, dressed in a soft civilian tunic and breeches, in her private dining room. The mood had begun as somber but was improving with each story Varric told.

“Did I tell anyone about the time that Cookie-”

“I truly dislike that nickname,” Lavellan chuckled, drinking her wine past a smile that kept growing.

“That’s what makes it fun, no one should have anything more than a begrudging acceptance of their nicknames,” Varric informed her. “Anyway, Cookie and I were in the Hinterlands, alone, because for some reason she thought that we only needed the two of us.”

Lavellan groaned, putting her glass down. “Varric, no. Please?” When Varric only chuckled she added, “We had taken care of the bandits, the rogue templars, and the rebel mages. Not to mention we had camps throughout and our agents were everywhere. What could have gone wrong?”

“Beginner's mistake, it is not uncommon,” Cullen said kindly. “Marian once decided to walk around Sundermount alone in the dead of night. Almost got killed by the Dalish and a pack of gigantic spiders.”

Hawke looked surprised. “How did you even hear about that? Never mind, this is Varric’s story time, don’t interrupt.” Even so, she was grinning at the memory.

“As I was saying,” Varric continued, “Cookie and I were riding along on our horses, trying to find some red lyrium veins. We found this cave which looked quite promising, as we all know red lyrium likes caves.”

“Disgusting,” Cassandra muttered, making a face. “If there is nothing else I am pleased to be done with, it is caves.”

“So, we go into this cave, look around, but then it opens up into a new area that wasn’t on our maps. The scouts hadn’t even found it. I told Cookie that we should maybe go back and at least get some agents to come along with us, and Cookie replied…?”

Lavellan was trying to hide her smirk. “What, Varric, scared of wide open spaces?”

“Right you are. And what happened to be waiting for us in that wide open space?”

Lavellan chuckled, ducking her head. “A dragon.”

“And?”

“And her brood of fire-spitting babies,” Lavellan sighed.

“You never told me this!” Cassandra exclaimed. “Was that not one we ended up killing?”

“It was, six months later with a full party,” Varric chuckled. “As it was, one of the babies caught Lavellan’s horse on fire, and she ran, on foot, despite me trying to get her on the back of my horse.”

“You did not,” Hawke sounded gleeful. “You ran from a dragon, on foot, and lived?”

Lavellan was blushing but grinning. “The distance to the cave was not far, and I happen to be very fleet of foot.”

“Damn right she is,” Varric chuckled. “She outran my horse.”

The table laughed and drank more wine before Lavellan glanced over at Cullen and Hawke. “What are your plans now?”

Cullen cleared his throat and ducked his head for a moment while Hawke grinned and bit her lower lip. The table watched them, confused until Cassandra’s eyes widened. “No.”

Hawke quirked an eyebrow. “No?”

“You are going to get married, aren’t you?”

“Well, shit!” Varric shouted, seeming both thrilled and surprised. “You weren’t going to tell us?”

“When did this happen?” Lavellan insisted. “When did you decide?”

“No one said anything about marriage,” Hawke tried to play coy, but the gentle pink glow to her cheeks and her impish smile gave her away.

“I asked her a fortnight ago,” Cullen finally answered. Hawke chuckled, placing a hand on his thigh under the table. “We haven’t decided on where or when, but-”

“Well it obviously has to be now and in Val Royeaux,” Cassandra insisted. “How many people can claim that the Divine married them in the Grand Cathedral?”

“Oh, Cassandra, we don’t want anything big-” Hawke began, waving her free hand as if it might help.

“Who said anything about big?” Cassandra chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “You do know how awkward I am in front of people. The smaller the party, the better.”

“It is such a distance; I would not want to put anyone out,” Cullen added.

“Who will be put out?” Cassandra pressed. “And it will take a week, at most. I have a boat.”

Lavellan blinked and then chuckled. “Of course you have a boat. I am not sure why I expected differently.” She was silent for a moment before adding, “If you two decide to get married soon, we can be there for it, too. If you would like us there, of course.”

“Yes,” Hawke said quickly. “Of course we would! Varric, you can delay your trip to Kirkwall?”

He smirked. “Bran is going to kill me. But yes, I wouldn’t miss it even if my hair was on fire.”

“That’s an odd qualifier,” Cassandra mused.

“I only say that because I didn’t get to the best part of Lavellan’s dragon story.” Lavellan groaned, and Varric pressed on. “Her flaming horse caught her hair on fire.”

“That is why your hair was shorter when you returned?” Cullen exclaimed suddenly, remembering the odd display. “I thought you said it was for tactical maneuverability.”

“Well, it was,” she said, sitting up straighter, her once-again long hair fluttered around her shoulders. “Tactical maneuverability to not catch my hair on fire a second time.”

 

* * *

  

When the group arrived in Val Royeaux, there was a parade to welcome Cassandra - Divine Victoria - back. The procession slowed their carriage considerably, but Cullen didn’t think anyone minded. The city was beautiful, and they were in some of the best company imaginable.

They were all given rooms in the living quarters of the Grand Cathedral, as well as suggestions on the best clothing and mercantile shops for things they might require. Cassandra had been spirited away to attend to her duties, but not before asking if the following week would be appropriate for the wedding ceremony.

“That doesn’t give us much time for shopping,” Lavellan mused.

“I doubt we need much time for shopping,” Hawke said. In spite of her recent interest in backless dresses that some would call immodest, Hawke had never been one to put stock in fashion. “But I would like to attempt getting word to my sister. And I am sure Cullen would like his family here?”

“I would very much,” Cullen agreed. “It has been too long since I have seen them.”

Lavellan nodded. “Yes, inviting family is also important. But as for the clothing, we will need to see at least four dress makers to find the right style for you; there will be fittings, the suits will need to be sewn. Not to mention they will have a time finding a dress that can make this look more presentable,” she nodded at her amputated arm.

“Would a month suffice?” Cassandra suggested, tone soft.

Lavellan thought about it and then hummed her approval. “A month should be enough.”

After the Divine had left them, the four decided to make their way to the living quarters, needing a soft bed after a week aboard a rocking boat. “Have you thought about what I said before, Cookie?” Varric asked suddenly.

Lavellan was silent for a moment, running her hand over the residual stump of her arm before murmuring, “I have. I think the shrinking has stopped, so… maybe now would be a perfect time.”

“Come by, I can take measurements,” he said softly. “A month is more than enough time for me to get the materials and make you the prosthetic. I’ll even make sure it’s prettier than Bianca.”

Cullen swallowed, feeling like the conversation was too private for him to be listening to. Hawke, on the other hand, reached out to pull the girl into her side, their heads pressing together as they walked.

If there was one thing Cullen had noticed, other than Hawke’s suddenly warm body and confidence, it was her softness, her sweetness. She was gentler with the others, immediately reacting as the comforter when someone needed it.

Mythal, he remembered Lavellan telling him after their trip to the Well of Sorrows, was the Protector, the All-Mother. While Hawke had insisted that the spirits couldn’t change their host’s personality, Cullen was beginning to sense her words weren’t entirely true.

 

* * *

 

 

The day of the wedding dawned cold and misty, the wind off of the Waking Sea making everything smell like salt. Hawke stood at their opened window, looking out over the foggy city, her body encased by the gloomy light. Cullen watched her silently, taking in the curve of her body through her sheer dressing robe. The dragon glinted at him as if it, too, was covered in dew.

What had once been a gorgeous design, something for him to trace while she slept or while they lounged in bed together, was now a reminder of what she had become. A god. Something greater than herself.

Hawke turned to look at him and smiled faintly. “I was just thinking.... Morrigan was supposed to take this power. I was never meant to have it. But Morrigan had a son, a son with an Old God inside of him, and it changed her. It made her softer.”

“Mythal didn’t want a soft surrogate?”

“No, it’s not that,” she murmured, moving toward the bed and sitting beside him. “Mythal has never forced herself on people; her surrogates always have a choice. Morrigan did not want it, and so she could not have it. But Mythal felt Morrigan’s love for Kieran, and she did the best that she could do for them. She took the Old God out of him. She made him a regular boy and left Morrigan a regular mother. Or... as close to regular as Morrigan could be.”

“Where is the Old God, then? The one she took from Kieran?”

Hawke laid beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. “An old friend has it. One who respected Mythal. One who would do anything to help her people.” Cullen watched her bite her lower lip before whispering, “Do you remember Merrill?”

Cullen’s heart stuttered to a stop for a moment. “The blood mage?”

Hawke nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “She still has power over one eluvian. She is going to do her best to keep Fen’Harel from accessing it. Hopefully, the spirit of Urthemiel is rejuvenated enough to help her if he does gain access.”

“A blood mage,” he repeated numbly. A blood mage had an Old God inside of her. A blood mage had the knowledge and power of the Old God who brought about the Fifth Blight. “I hope Mythal… Flemeth… knew what she was doing, entrusting such a thing to a woman like that.”

“We face a fight against the most dangerous mage either of us has ever known, Cullen. At least Merrill is a powerful counterbalance and on our side.”

Cullen could not argue with her logic.

 

* * *

  

Cullen’s eldest sister, Mia, was the first to arrive. She managed to find Cullen standing inside the Grand Cathedral, sitting in a pew, lost in his thoughts. When he stood, startled by hearing his name, his sister flew toward him, launching herself into his arms, burying her face in his tunic.

“Why did you not tell me you were involved with someone?” was the first thing she demanded when their hug ended. “Maker, Cullen, I thought your raven was a joke in the beginning!”

“Have I ever been one to joke?” Cullen asked, chuckling and running a hand through his hair.

“Not once, that is why I am here,” she returned, beaming. “Branson and Rosalie are sorry they couldn’t make it. Branson’s son is ill, and he cannot leave. Rosalie is deep in preparing for her Vows and is practically chained to the Chantry.” She cleared her throat, glancing around them. “Where is your betrothed?”

“I believe she is with the Inquis -- with Lavellan. They are out for final fittings.”

“Final fittings, very elegant,” Mia laughed softly. “How did you meet her? Was she part of the Inquisition?”

“We, ah… we knew one another in Kirkwall. She was the Champion, in fact. I am not sure if news of her had spread to South Reach-”

“Of course it had,” Mia murmured, looking confused. “She began the Mage Rebellion. Is she… is she why you left the Order?”

“No,” Cullen said quickly. “I had already decided to abandon the Order before she and I… became more personally involved.”

Mia looked skeptical, so Cullen pressed on. “She did help the Inquisition, though. We have cared for one another for a long time, Mia.”

Mia didn't look too convinced, but she didn't press. “Well, she must be an extraordinary woman if you plan to marry her - you've never been one to make decisions lightly. I am excited to meet her.”

Cullen thought about waiting, letting the surprise come to her naturally, but he decided to spare her the public shock. “You have already met her. In South Reach. You invited her to dinner after she told you I was still in Kirkwall and alive.”

Mia’s face was blank for a moment before she flushed heavily. “Maker’s breath, Cullen! That was her?”

“She and I were apart for that time. She was… well, you heard what happened. She was running; she couldn’t disclose much to anyone.” He glanced behind Mia and smiled. “And here she is.”

Mia turned and put her fingers to her lips. Marian Hawke was approaching them, her hair shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, her dark plum dress accenting her pale skin. Her smile was flawless, heart-stopping. “Mia!” she exclaimed brightly. “It's nice to meet you without secrecy.”

Mia threw her arms around Hawke and nearly shouted, “I knew there was more to you when we met!”

“You have no idea,” Cullen murmured, making Hawke chuckle. He glanced at the woman he would be marrying in less than four hours and asked, “Have you heard from Bethany?”

“No,” she sighed, letting Mia out of her arms. “I doubt Aveline was able to get her the information in time. At any rate, Bethany will be returning from her hiding as soon as Aveline gets to her, and then she will no doubt visit us.”

“Where do you plan to live?” Mia asked, suddenly concerned. “My home is always open, though it is small.”

“Cullen plans to build a house near Lake Calenhad,” Hawke hummed, turning her gaze to Cullen, her smile softening.

“Near the dock?” Mia asked.

“Near the dock,” he confirmed.

Mia glanced up at the stained glass, at the position of the sun, and frowned. “I will need to go back to my room at the Inn and prepare for the wedding. Might we speak after the ceremony?”

“We insist on it,” Cullen said, pulling his sister into another hug. “Dinner with us?”

“I would not miss it,” she smiled, kissing her brother’s cheek before hugging Hawke a second time. “It is so good to see you again and to know… well, you understand me.” She kissed Hawke’s cheek before departing, a bounce in her step.

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen paced the steps in front of the Cathedral, his chest pounding. He was early as Lavellan had insisted he leave the room while the women prepared their clothing and hair. So Cullen had gone outside with Maicoh and paced while the dog pranced around him with a stick in his mouth.

“Cullen?”

He turned, startled for the second time that day. “Bethany!” His lover’s sister was there and looking flawless in a sleek dress armor set in the usual Grey Warden silver and blue. She looked as though she had not been sleeping well, but she looked pleased to see him.

“It is good to see you again,” she smiled faintly, tilting her head to the side. “I take it my sister is still getting ready?”

“Yes, ah… you are early but if you wished to sit in the pews… or if you wanted to go up to our room-”

Bethany sat on the steps and whistled for Maicoh. The mabari came to her, shoving the stick into her hand with single-minded determination. She chuckled, taking the stick and tossing it. “Your hound?”

“Yes, our hound,” he said, feeling awkward. “Jakke passed on not long after Hawke left Kirkwall.”

Bethany nodded, tossing the stick a second time when Maicoh brought to her. “He was so loyal, possibly more so than most of his stock. She didn't like taking him into battle with her. He would willingly take an arrow for Marian without hesitation, sometimes even without need. He had always been that way.”

“He took a wyvern attack for her.”

She chuckled sadly. “That does sound like Jakke.”

They sat and stood in silence as the sun began descending over the Waking Sea. Bethany finally got up when the cathedral bell tolled, marking the hour. “We should probably go in. Would you like… what is his name?”

“Maicoh,” Cullen supplied, feeling daft for not telling her sooner.

“Maicoh can sit with me if you would like.”

“That would be preferable to him tugging on the Divine’s robes.”

Bethany chuckled and whistled for the dog. Maicoh followed her without a thought, licking Cullen’s hand as he passed.

Cullen took his place in front of the altar, his heart making a deep rumbling beat inside of his chest. At any moment Lavellan would lead Hawke out. At any moment -

A door opened, and Cullen’s heart clenched. It was only Cassandra, the Divine, looking impossibly regal in her white robes. She smiled at Cullen gently as she stood behind the altar, clasping her hands in front of her. Varric had entered at some point, too quiet for Cullen to have noticed, sitting in the front pew.

Mia had arrived next, dressed in a pale pink and sliding onto the bench with Bethany and Maicoh. The women were speaking softly to one another, making introductions, but Cullen was too distracted to listen. The door to his left opened again, and Lavellan stepped through it, smiling faintly at Cullen and sitting with Varric. Her pale green dress caressed her perfectly and accented the pale of her flesh hand and the glimmer of her milky colored steel and quartz prosthetic.

And then Hawke emerged. Her dress was more reserved than Cullen had expected - the bodice was low, but her back covered. The skirt flowed from the white corset, draping across the floor as she walked. Maicoh barked happily, and Hawke chuckled as she came to standing in front of Cullen, taking his hands in hers.

“Today we bind the souls and bodies of Marian Ariste Hawke and Cullen Stanton Rutherford. Do you have words to speak?” Most Holy asked. Her pleased voice was thick and all-encompassing.

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” Hawke began, biting her lower lip. Her cheeks were flushed, accentuated by the loose dark curls caressing them. “I will be by your side for as long as I live. As the Maker is my witness, I dedicate myself to you, and to us. May nothing separate us again.”

Cullen swallowed past the lump in his throat that her words inspired. “Marian Ariste Hawke, I promise to lay my life down for you, to honor these words until the day I die. As the Maker is my witness, I dedicate myself to you, and to us. May we find happiness even in our darkest times.”

Divine Victoria reached out, pressing her hand on top of theirs. “As the Maker is my witness, I bless this union between Marian Ariste Hawke and Cullen Stanton Rutherford. May you go in peace and may your families thrive.”

Cullen pulled Hawke into her arms, the silk of her bodice under his hands warmed from the fire within her. Their lips met and did not part for what felt like an eternity.

 

 

The dinner was full of laughter. Varric had regaled them all with tales of Cullen and Hawke’s epic romance, including - to Cullen and Hawke’s dismay - how he had found them in Hawke’s kitchen, barely dressed and mussed from bed, the day he spirited Hawke out of Kirkwall. Bethany had covered her face, always the one for privacy when it came to intimate situations. Mia looked positively thrilled at each story. Lavellan smiled softly, but there was a pain behind her eyes as her flesh hand absently traced over the location of her former tattoo. She thought of Solas often, and it never seemed to please her.

Bethany and Mia, on the other hand, were both jovial and taken with one another to the point that Mia offered Bethany room and board in South Reach. “At least until you decide to make your way toward Weisshaupt,” Mia had said.

“You know,” Lavellan began suddenly, startling everyone else, “I exchanged letters with the Hero of Ferelden not long ago. Our scouts, with Chantry help, were able to track him down. He is currently researching how to end the Calling. Perhaps….”

Bethany raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps?”

“Perhaps we can track him down again,” Lavellan finished, her gaze far away as she thought. “Our resources are not what they once were, but perhaps Leliana - or Morrigan, more likely - could find him again. Last we heard, he was visiting thaigs deep below the Frostbacks. Maybe you would be better served to help him in his work than turning to Weisshaupt?”

Bethany worried her lower lip, glancing between Lavellan and Hawke. “Thoughts, Sister?”

“Many, most circling around not wanting you to go back to the Deep Roads,” Hawke replied easily, sipping her wine. “But you will do what you want, and I respect that.”

“It is not as if I can get the Blight a second time,” Bethany pointed out with a chuckle.

“Serving the Hero would most likely be the safer option than joining the fractured and weakened Wardens,” Cullen added, making Bethany smile.

Varric nodded his approval. “Not to mention the more rewarding option if - when - he finds the solution to the Calling.”

“It does sound like the more noble choice,” Mia added. “At least until another Blight arrives, Maker forbid.”

Lavellan sighed. “Could you imagine? Thedas is splintered from the Breach and then the arrival of another Blight? It would very possibly ruin Thedas.”

“Any and all of us would stand up and fight if it happened,” Cullen assured her. “The Inquisition may have disbanded, but we are all still here, mere ravens apart. We will all follow.”

“I could never lead us, not with this,” Lavellan muttered, her prosthetic thumping against the table. She was rarely bitter, but her loss seemed to be darkening her mood more often than not. “We would need someone else.”

“There is always Cullen,” Hawke murmured.

“There is always the one with the spirit of a God inside of them,” Varric added. Bethany and Mia looked confused, glancing between them all, and Varric realized his mistake, correcting with the ease of a master storyteller. “You can’t deny that Hawke has too much fire and fury inside of her not to be some kind of God.”

Cullen let out a relieved breath when Bethany looked pleased, and Mia melted at the praise for her new sister. Thank Andraste for Varric’s gilded tongue, Cullen mused.

Lavellan nodded softly. “With the two of you leading, we would be unstoppable. In addition to the help from your friend in Kirkwall, I daresay we would stop anything that might occur.”

“You would still be our leader,” Hawke said softly, smiling at the elf. “Maybe not on the front line, but you are the brains of Thedas. We need you.”

“Well,” Varric interrupted, pouring himself more wine. “Tomorrow we can plan out the rest of our lives and how we will defeat… whatever we think we need to defeat. But until then - more drinking, more stories, less gloomy faces.”

“You’re right,” Lavellan chuckled, extending her glass so Varric could fill it. “Whatever is to come, we will be ready.”

“To victory against tyranny, to love, to good company and even better wine,” Varric said loudly, his voice booming off of the stone walls.

“Hear, hear,” the table cheered, raising their glasses in a grateful toast, reminded of all that had gone right among the things that had gone wrong.

If nothing else, Thedas was hardy. The people were fighters. They were often victorious, they were ever vigilant, and they were willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good. Cullen felt his heart swell with pride at the strength of those in the room and those not, all those he had stood beside him through his years of service.

In that moment, Cullen found himself convinced that there was nothing they could not do, Fen’Harel be damned.

 


End file.
